For Want of an Ear
by Jedi Goat
Summary: The war is over and all is well - except in the mind of George Weasley, who won't rest until Fred gets the ending he deserved. With Hermione's help, he might even pull off the greatest prank in history - to rewrite the past. Slightly AU, FredxHermione.
1. Prologue

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Which by now should be pretty obvious.

Author's Note: Here's my Fred n' George Day present to you all! P There are quite a few time-travel stories out there where Harry gets a second shot at setting things right, so I figured ... why not someone else? I've never seen anything like this done before, so I decided to have a little fun with the idea.

Timeline Note: In case you're lost ... this takes place approximately two months after the final battle. For the moment, I stuck mainly to canon, save for some shameless FredxHermione (yes, they got engaged. I couldn't resist, sorry.) At the moment that's my only planned non-canon ship, so even if you prefer RonxHermione, please at least give my story a chance. :)

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The Ministry of Magic had once proclaimed itself the proud emblem of the British wizarding community, an image of elevated sophistication and prevailing influence stretching around the globe. After the war, however, the complex network of floors upon floors of underground chambers had been completely and utterly ransacked until it was nothing but a burned-out shell of its previous grandeur.

Enormous holes gaped in the walls from spells gone awry; the long pillars arcing away into the high ceiling, which was now blotched with sunlit gaps, were crisscrossed with thin cracks as fine as a spider's thread. Long scorch marks marred the gleaming marble floors, and the atrium itself was a minefield littered with glass shards from the high windows – now sightless eyeholes – looking down on all sides. The abhorrent statue of Muggles slowly crushed beneath the weight of the wizarding world was nothing more than a glob of melded gold and concrete, half blasted apart by some vicious spell.

Though the last sign of desperate combatants had long cleared after the war's end, a few short months ago, an ominous presence loomed in the thick air: it sent a chill down the young adults' spines as they crept across the atrium, lit wands held aloft and their gazes sweeping the wreckage, constantly on the alert for figments of enemies already long vanquished.

Harry Potter, surviving newly elected head of the Order of the Phoenix, brought his sleeve to his mouth and coughed. Something in the air made the back of his neck tingle; there was something in that musty scent that was all too reminiscent of bloodshed and death.

He forced that stomach-churning thought from his mind, gesturing the party of wizards ahead; they crossed from the dilapidated atrium into the welcome shadows of a passage. The winding hall led them farther and farther into the dank underbelly of the abandoned Ministry. At any moment, they expected the last dispersion of Death Eaters to come lunging at them out of the dark. Harry's shoulders were tense; he had his mind only on his mission: of finding clues as to where the last of the dark forces, petrified at the loss of their sole master and leader, had fled; to dwell on anything else only brought to the surface of his mind dark memories that he well preferred to let lie.

The Ministry, it seemed, concurred with that line of thought; no sooner was the war declared over than they had commenced rebuilding their government, albeit in a new, undisclosed location. The trepidation to return to the charred rubble of their old days seemed too great for any wizard to surpass.

Harry Potter walked on. Up ahead loomed a doorway; the door itself lay crumpled on the floor a few feet away, the metal warped from the center as if it had been hit by flames. Harry's lips twitched at a grimace and he stepped through the doorway, wand raised to attack or defend; behind him he felt more than saw the others, breathing hard, shifting into similar war-adapted positions.

Nothing; after a long silent moment Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Beside him, a bushy-haired witch muttered "_Lumos_" and light burst across their vision.

The floor sloped downward from where they now stood, the circular room carved out in the shape of a bowl with rows upon rows of low stone steps, like an ancient amphitheatre. Even here, the battle had left its mark: great chunks of stone had been forcibly blown apart, leaving treacherous craters in the steps; in other places, rusty stains of blood marred the cream stone. Down below, at the center of the room – amazingly intact, still billowing faintly in a nonexistent breeze – the dark tattered curtains rose out of his nightmares.

Harry swallowed hard, thrusting aside with difficulty images of his godfather's dying moments before he had tumbled through that very same innocent curtain. He turned to the others, instructing, "Search it, as usual – but let's move quickly. I don't like the feel of this place."

The group nodded and moved off without questioning the pallor that had then risen in his face. They all knew. Though each one's recollections might have varied, they were all haunted in the same way, reliving the terror in their nightmares every long night. Harry watched them get to work; the bushy brown-haired witch was already muttering under her breath as she drew her wand over a slab of rock, causing the surface to glow slightly with remnants of magic.

Before he turned off to begin searching himself, he caught the sympathetic smile of the red-haired woman next to him; he smiled thinly back at Ginny, understanding passing between them in an unspoken instant. Standing here ... recalling the memories – of death, of loss, of pain – dredged up the nightmares he had long waged futilely against in his sleep during the long months of rebuilding, of mourning. _God,_ Harry thought as he turned away from Ginny, _has it really only been two months...?_

**·:·**

Down below, a young man with straggly red hair was picking his way carefully across the destroyed benches. By his features, one could tell he had once been quite handsome; but now his face was thinner, more haggard in the absence of his smile; his shoulders slumped with some weight that the man bore alone. Some of the others he heard murmuring amongst themselves as they worked; someone even dared a laugh in the deadly silence, but he quickly tapered off once more; the young man, however, did not address anyone, nor did he react at the laugh as he might have, once, violently – but that fire had died out over two months' time. Now he was nothing more than a weary, emaciated shell.

He descended further to avoid the section where his older brother Percy was picking suspiciously at the shards of stone; most of all, he didn't want to be forced into conversing with _him_ now and to yet again see the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he hopped the last step down into the shallow bowl of the amphitheatre; he had his back to the waving black curtain, drawing his wand over a half-destroyed bench.

His brow furrowed; the rock was flickering with magical refuse, but he couldn't keep his focus on it. Something – some strange feeling – tingled the back of his neck, as though he was being watched. Unnerved, he cast his glare in either direction, but everyone else was immersed in their search, as well. He clenched his jaw and repeated the spell.

Again, the bench began to hum with energy, and again he felt a presence ... but this time, it was more than a lingering sensation; a voice had awakened in the back of his mind, a whisper that renewed a dull ache in his heart.

Pleading. Calling. Without thinking he turned his eyes back on the black curtain; its frayed tails waved lightly in the breeze, beckoning him; and beyond it he heard...

The others muttering and shuffling around him fell away as he felt himself called forward by something stronger than magic. Just beyond the curtain. He only needed to reach out...

A hand descended on his shoulder and he jolted from his trance; he flinched back and found himself staring into Harry's solemn face. He blinked, glancing downward, and realized he was standing with one foot up on the raised dais, about to propel himself into the curtain's reach. He could not recall his feet moving forward. A small shiver went down his arms.

He took a shaky breath, imploring Harry with his gaze; and for the first time in long weeks, hoarsely, George Weasley spoke. "I ... I hear _him_, Harry ... He's right there –"

"It's not him," Harry said, very quietly. "I know – I hear them, too. But they're not real, George, they're not." His hand tightened on his shoulder, a slight gesture of understanding. "Come on –"

"Harry!" Ginny called across the room. "Look at this!"

Harry moved off at the urgency in her tone, leaving George standing there, eyes riveted to the gentle rippling of the Veil. Even after Harry's warning, he could still hear it; he could still hear that voice calling to him, begging him.

George tore his eyes away with a faint growl. _Snap out of it,_ he thought, his fist clenching around his wand as he moved back toward the benches; Hermione had taken over the section he'd deserted, frowning slightly as she scanned the rubble. George approached her. He didn't know why, but he found himself needing proof; he was clinging to the idea that maybe Harry was wrong, that maybe there was still a little bit of _him_ left.

"Hermione. Do you hear it?"

She glanced up at him. "Hear what, George?"

He said nothing, but his eyes drew back toward the black curtain waving innocently in the stale underground air. Hermione drew a sharp breath, moving to stand beside him.

"I don't hear anything," she whispered, her hand closing on his wrist. Her cold fingers were trembling. "George – we should report back to Harry..."

"It's him," he countered, knowing full well of all people she should know, she should be able to tell him; after all, she had been the one engaged to _him_ before that – before _that_ day... "I hear _him_, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head, blinking hard against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her eyes. "No, George, it's not. Don't –"

At that moment a scream went up from across the room, driving any thought of the argument from their minds. The duo whirled about, each with wand raised. From the entranceway they had come in by, dark figures were now pouring, unmasked and in tattered disarray. The Death Eaters' strength in numbers was gone – now, these last stragglers rose up with feral light in their eyes. These were the men too far mutated to return to living undercover as their past pureblood selves; too proud to fall back into Azkaban; too hungry for vengeance to bow to the new regime.

The Order of the Phoenix reacted. At the frontline, Harry and Ginny fought back to back with fervent strokes, reading one another's movements with feeling alone. But the Death Eaters were too many, and soon the room was awash in a sea of black and bright flashes of spells. Hermione and George fell into stride, warding off the dark figures that came lunging down at them; his face pale, Percy struggled over to their side and joined them, his glasses slipping on his sweat-streaked nose. They fought, side by side, but the tide jostled them backward; now the trio stood on the edge of the dais, the chill of the Veil at their backs, struggling to ward off attack.

"_Stupefy_!" At Hermione's cry a man went down limp, but in his place rose what George was sure was a werewolf; and baring dirty fangs the man lunged, long nails outstretched. Hermione shrieked; he had gouged her sleeve and now blood glistened along her wand arm; a wild light in his eyes now, the werewolf lunged hungrily for her neck –

In slow motion, it seemed, George saw the man's gleaming teeth snap down; and then, hardly realizing he was moving, he was; his vision was red, for these bastards had already taken all else from him and there was no way they'd take away his last reminder of _him_ -!

George swung out and his fist connected with something; the Death Eater fell back, stunned, and in the moment's opening he had clasped Hermione's wrist, pulling her back beside him. She was panting, her other hand pressed to her wound; the slightest whimper escaped her. Then with a snarl the werewolf lunged for the two of them.

And George, still clutching tight to her arm, stepped backward. For a moment he felt nothing, but then a cold was seeping through his limbs as if he had plunged into icy water. He tried to shiver, but his body didn't respond. The chaos around him was fading; the last thing he saw was Hermione's eyes widening and her lips moving in a soundless scream as he pulled her in with him.

And then the welcome darkness overtook him.

For a heartbeat the combatants froze, numb with shock; Percy lunged with a wild shout, but his fingers only feathered empty air; he fell to his knees, suddenly alone on the raised dais, as the Death Eaters' laugher coldly echoed around the chamber. Percy could only stare in horror at the place where his younger brother and Ron's fiancée had just tumbled through the Veil.

"NO!"

_To be continued..._

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><p>Ehehehe. So many questions... Please review!<p> 


	2. Accidental Anomaly

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Right, I'm purposefully keeping a lot of details ambiguous for now, but please feel free to ask questions! I may need to explain things a bit more thoroughly. :D (And yes, if you picked up on it, Hermione did get engaged twice. That was not a mistake. No, I'm not going to explain just yet. :P)

More Timeline Notes: Well ... by the end of this chapter you should know where we are in the series.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Accidental Anomaly<strong>

"We did it!"

_That voice._

George's head jerked up; he drew in a breath so sharply that his lungs burned. There, right there in front of him, separated by precious feet alone, was his brother – fully alive as he had ever been, his freckled face split in an all too familiar fox-like grin, an empty vial clamped in his fist as he toasted it lightly with an equally grinning Lee Jordan.

_Merlin_ ... After two months, two _bloody long_ months of coming to terms with the fact that he'd never hear that bark of a laugh again ... He had to be dreaming, and what a cruel dream it was. Or was he dead...?

_Is this ... what death is?_ Somehow George managed to tear his eyes away from his twin – his wonderfully alive and vibrant twin – and focus on Lee beside him, his brow furrowing_. No ..._ that couldn't be right ... Lee was alive; or at least, he had been, that late June day when the two had at last closed down the shop for good. They had stood there a long moment together in the burned-out hollow of Diagon Alley, solemn and silent, neither certain of what to say or of what to do now. Of course - his stomach prickled with something like guilt - George hadn't exactly tried to keep in touch after that, either...

He drew a long, trembling breath, having to mentally force himself to breathe. _No_ ... as far as he could tell at the moment ...

"Fred...?" George ventured hesitantly, his voice nearly cracking on that syllable that had been taboo for two months at the Burrow; the word he hadn't been able to say, else he acknowledge the truth that drove a steady hole into his heart. But now, his heart was pounding; both Fred and Lee glanced over at him, Fred cocking an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly. Oh, God, it really _was_ Fred ... he always tilted his head in the mirror image of him...

"What's up with you, mate?" Fred asked. "You're as pale as if you'd seen a ghost." He grinned slightly at that, glancing sideways at Lee. George's heart throbbed at the unwitting truth in those coy words.

He blinked slowly and shook his head, trying to get his dazed mind to produce something sensible to say. The old George, however, had taken leave since he started having to finish his own sentences, and instead his mind fought futilely against a mad desire to leap at his brother's neck and never, ever let the sodding git out of his sight again – after he pummelled him into a pulp for being such a bloody idiot as to – as to in the first place –

George's legs were trembling; he fell back on the edge of a bed, and glancing about deduced they were standing in the midst of the deserted Gryffindor dormitory. The thought registered, distantly, at the back of his mind.

"Fred..." he repeated weakly, an odd urge to laugh bubbling in his chest. "Fred..."

Fred and Lee exchanged bewildered glances. "Er – are you _sure_ you're all right, mate?" Lee pressed. "You can sit this one out, you know."

"Maybe the potion you took was a bit off," Fred suggested. At that mention, George took note that he, too, held a small potion vial in his fist; he turned it over idly, watching the last drop of silvery liquid move from side to side. His memory sparked distantly;_ but how...?_ It felt like...

"It can't be," Lee was meanwhile arguing with Fred, "we all took it from the same cauldron."

"Ah, good point," Fred said, nodding. "Don't know why I doubted our skill ... suppose I lost it, too, for a moment there." He clapped his hands, and George, who was still in a daze, jumped.

"Right, so, if you're done obsessing about me," Fred said matter-of-factly, "let's get this done now, aye? Before any of our dear teachers get down there first."

Lee was nodding, so George, numbly, copied his gesture; he stuffed the empty vial in his pocket and followed the two now traipsing down the stairs to the common room. George clutched to the rail, his legs still shaking, and he eyed the tousled red head bobbing in front of him. All too well, it suddenly flashed in his mind that the last time he had seen that vibrant hair, it had been coated in dust and blood, his twin lying lifeless among so many others fallen in the Great Hall that day. Even so, his hair alone had called out to him like a beacon...

George drew a sharp gasp and pressed a hand to his forehead. "No – _stop it_," he hissed to himself. Somehow, with a skill earned over two months' time, he pushed the memories back; once his mind had returned to a welcome void, he ventured cautiously onward.

As the trio headed down the long torch-lit hallways, George found his eyes repeatedly wandering to the ceiling, the walls, searching for jagged cracks that weren't there. He was being bloody paranoid, he knew, but yet the thought still lingered at the back of his mind: was this the corridor where it had happened? Where, in a split second, the rupturing explosion had claimed any life the two had hoped to have...

_Goddamnit._ George shut his eyes, blocking out that path of thought; a welcome instant later Fred's cheery voice interrupted. "Here we are, now!"

George glanced up; they had reached the marble staircase leading down to the Entrance Hall. Down below, he could hear a murmur of voices; it seemed they were waiting for something. He was now frantically searching for some cue in their earlier conversation – but whatever was going on, the three were so well versed in their crime that Fred, eyes gleaming as he exchanged a grin with him and Lee, merely assumed he knew what the hell they were doing.

George fervently hoped his improvisation tactics hadn't gone rusty in his twin's absence.

"All right, let's do this thing," Lee enthused, rubbing his hands together; Fred grinned wickedly and launched himself downstairs, George and Lee hurrying in his wake.

George took in the scene in a flash: the twenty or so students milling around the darkened hall, now turning toward them; some whispered, pointing, while others started to cheer and laugh; at the center of the room, the source of the only eerie lighting, was a tall Goblet, almost-white blue flames licking upward from its ornate rim. George's blood ran cold. Suddenly he remembered, in a flash, the Triwizard tournament, a certain Cedric Diggory lying dead on the Quidditch field, and an urgent whisper: _Voldemort's back_.

The other two were running forward, laughing, throwing out their hands for high fives from the crowd. George saw flickers of distantly familiar faces – were those he had seen lying in the Hall that day, when his world had shattered, or had they been present during the long oblivion of funerals afterward, solemn and silent?

George shook himself from his trance to step forward to meet the others; Fred and Lee were talking to a group of students, evidently flaunting their prank. George stepped into their midst and for the second time that day felt as if he would faint.

Harry Potter and Ron were grinning back at them, Harry applauding, Ron looking a little wistful. Neither of them had that haunted look in their eyes of boys who had grown into men far too quickly, their innocence stripped away by war and bloodshed. Between them, another familiar face made his heart lurch; there was Hermione Granger, and her face was white as a sheet.

Suddenly the rush of images bombarded him: Death Eaters swarming the Ministry, a black curtain calling to him, blood roaring in his ears, and then –

And then her hand on his as they both fell through the Veil.

George tried to catch her eye, but was soon distracted by Fred's excited whisper. "We've all done it, just taken it."

"What?" asked Ron.

"The Ageing Potion, dungbrains," Fred said, rolling his eyes; he glanced back at his companions with a satisfied smirk. "One drop each – we only needed to be a few months older. Dumbledore won't know what hit him."

"We're gonna split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," Lee chipped in with a broad grin.

"Couldn't you have made some for us, too?" Ron said, eyeing them as if they might be hiding extra potion in their pockets.

"Sorry, Ronniekins, we figured Mum might not be too happy if we let her precious little boy break a nail," Fred said, patting him sympathetically on the head; Ron, who was actually taller than him, grimaced and swatted his hand away.

"You prats ... you're my _brothers_, you know?"

"It's not going to work anyway, Ron." Hermione spoke up at last; she was not looking at them but at the thin golden line stretched in a perfect circle around the Goblet of Fire, ten feet outward in every direction.

"Oh, really, Granger?" Fred raised an eyebrow. "And why, pray tell, do you doubt our genius?"

Unfazed, Hermione only shook her head; "Don't say I didn't warn you," she mumbled, with less of her usual conviction. George took note of her silence and once again tried to somehow signal her without alerting the others; but Fred, shrugging off her indifference, turned to him.

"Ready? C'mon, then, I'll go first – watch and learn, Granger," he added with a wink over his shoulder, fishing from his pocket a crumpled bit of parchment with _Fred Weasley – Hogwarts_ clearly marked on it. George searched his own pockets and found a similar parchment, which he crumpled in his fist. He knew the experiment wouldn't work, but... He swallowed hard, catching the gleam of excitement in his twin's eyes. How to tell that to _him_...?

With the eyes of every student on their backs, Fred, George, and Lee ventured to the very cusp of the line; Fred paused a moment, rocking on his heels. The twins looked at one another, and almost a second too late, George caught Fred's silent signal; the two plunged forward in tandem, an odd sensation rippling through him as if he had crossed an invisible barrier; then they reached the cup, hearts pounding with the adrenaline of the clandestine action. Without hesitating, Fred tossed his parchment inside; George a moment later imitated him, breath bated, knowing any instant now –

Then just as he remembered, as Fred gave a shout of victory and pumped his fist in the air, the Goblet's fire sparked and glowed an ominous red-hot; Fred stopped short, staring at it, and George in his pause reacted. He pushed his twin toward the age line, his heart in his throat.

A blast of air at their backs threw them both forward; they were tumbling through the empty air, George hitting the floor hard on his knees and rolling with the force, his mind numb with memories – again the halls were swarming with Death Eaters and he stood in that Hall, staring down at the battered and bloody form of his brother...

George landed on something warm and clung to it, wildly, a muffled yell escaping him. It didn't help knowing that it was going to happen; his hands were trembling, his mind still racing with mad fear.

Somehow he registered the fact that the figure beneath him was struggling to breathe, and he loosened his grip on Fred's robes, though he still did not fully release his fists clenching his brother's front. "Fred ... Fred, are you -?" His urgent query stopped short as Fred sat up, groaning and rubbing his head.

This motion met a shout of laughter from their audience as all perceived the long white beard now adorning Fred's front. George alone could not crack a smile, even if he suspected if he looked down, he would see the same on himself. Lee, nearly bent double with laughter, neared the pair and offered a hand up to George.

"I did warn you," a low voice chuckled, and glancing over George again felt his heart wrench; the blue eyes of Hogwarts' old headmaster twinkled down at them. "I suspected I would find you two like this," Albus Dumbledore remarked, his voice more amused than angered at their attempt to bypass his ruling. "I suggest you head up now to see Madam Pomfrey – she is already seeing to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summers, of Hufflepuff, who also saw fit to age themselves up a little, too."

Fred's face fell a little at the thought that someone had copied their brilliance; but it was terribly hard not to laugh along with their audience of students at the moment, and so, with Lee at their side, the two started up the marble staircase.

That was when George felt a firm hand grasp his arm and glanced sideways in surprise; Hermione Granger, her face creased with determination, steered him forcefully up the stairs. "I thought I told you," she only huffed faintly at the odd look Lee sent in her direction.

When they had reached the branching moving staircases, she directed Fred and Lee to go on ahead; George watched the bemused duo head off – neither wishing to hang around and face the Gryffindor genius when she was upset. He had a feeling he was about to endure more than the laugh and half-hearted reprimand he and Fred had escaped from Madam Pomfrey's with last time.

Their opposite course confirmed his suspicions. Hermione dragged him down a side passage, shooting the occasional look over her shoulder in case someone had seen fit to follow. George said nothing to her as they ascended floor after floor, noting that for her slight stature Hermione could move quickly when she wanted to, her strides stiff and her robes billowing in her wake.

They reached the seventh floor corridor in no time and Hermione marched back and forth in front of the blank space of wall; on her third turnabout, a low grumble punctured the silence and a door thrust out of the wall, its hewn surface as solid as if it had always been there. Hermione seized the handle and pushed the door open; a puff of dust assaulted them, and, coughing, Hermione pushed him through in front of her inside the disused chamber.

George staggered into a painfully familiar room: all around them lay the headquarters of Dumbledore's Army, the location that would be disclosed to Umbridge during their last school year and, later, the last place they had convened before the great battle that brought Hogwarts to its knees, and...

George walked forward, hardly daring to breathe else he disrupt the silence. In the long mirrors lining the walls he could see his reflection tenfold, as if there were many Freds and Georges standing there with him in the same solemn awe. In the corner of the room loomed a frighteningly lifelike dummy of a Death Eater; a poster board on the wall had only a list of names plastered to it – members to a secret organization that wouldn't exist for another year.

"What are you doing?" he asked, at last turning back to his companion. Hermione hadn't moved from where she leaned against the closed door, slightly pink-faced; she raised her gaze to him, but in the cold silence she suddenly looked furious – and George noted absently that she was blocking the only exit.

Hermione huffed out a long, impatient breath. "I could ask _you_ the same!"

"What're you talking about?"

She made a noise in her throat. "In case you haven't realized, we're in the _past_! I don't know how we managed it – but messing with time is incredibly, incredibly dangerous ... I'm surprised we haven't utterly butchered the timeline already!"

George didn't answer to that; in his mind, he again experienced the maddening shock of seeing Fred alive and laughing again, and something sparked in his chest, the sensation unknown after so long of emptiness. _Hope._

"Hermione ... you saw him as well as I did." George drew a long breath and met her eye. "I can't ... I can't stand by and watch it happen again ... I won't lose him again. He's alive, Hermione ... Fred's _alive_." He blinked hard, suddenly fighting tears; tears that he couldn't bear to shed on That Day, or at the funerals, never mind how much his family cried.

"No. _No_, we can't," Hermione shook her head automatically. "The longer we stay here, the greater the danger to everyone – we have to go back."

"How?" George shot back, suddenly goaded by her words, by her lack of understanding. "Just fall through the Veil again? What's to say that we won't wind up _dead_ this time?"

"That's not what I meant! Surely Dumbledore –"

"_Bloody hell_, Hermione, did you love him or not?" George stopped short then, breathing hard. His mind flashed back to another argument just like this, before he had cut himself off from the family entirely: how she had chosen to break off the engagement that was then nothing more than a painful memory; she had been the last one he could have trusted with the fragile memories that everyone else was all too glad to ignore; and then, just like everyone else, she had betrayed him, in favour of Ron.

"...I _do_," Hermione whispered at last. She was not looking at him; with a jolt George realized that her eyes were brimming with tears. "But – we can't..." She bit her lip. "It's too high a price, just for one man."

"It's not," George said roughly. "He's the entire goddamn _world_ to you and me both, and you know it."

Hermione shut her eyes, taking a long breath; at last, when she spoke, it was in a defeated whisper. "We're really stuck here then, I guess ... I've never come across anything like this before in my reading ... It'll be dangerous, ridiculously so, but if we're careful..." She met his determined stare and swallowed hard. "It might be possible we can save him, and many others, with what we know."

George smiled slightly, his shoulders easing. "That's the Hermione Granger I know, now."

Hermione returned the look, but it quickly faded as her jaw tensed. "George . Look in the mirror."

"Er ... all right." He obliged, puzzled. It still hit him as a shock to see his sixteen year old self staring back at him; his red hair – longer in the future, to disguise his missing ear – was tousled and flopped half in his eyes. He lifted the side of his bangs, marvelling at the sight of his left ear – his ear was intact, he wasn't goddamn _Holey_ anymore, and George was suddenly grinning in the way only someone gone a bit crazed with stress could.

"_George_," Hermione pressed, exasperated.

"What?"

"The beard," she pointed out calmly. "Last time, you _both_ had them."

George blinked, glancing back at his reflection and even running a hand over his jaw to feel for the slightest prickle – but he was clean-shaven as always. He swore softly. "But – how -? We both went over the line..."

"I suspect..." Hermione started to pace the room around him, her brow furrowed in thought. " ... yes, it _must_ be because we came back, there's no other reason for it. We still have all our memories and experiences of before – though it seems we're back to our younger bodies. So maybe," her voice grew louder with excitement as she reached her conclusion, "the age line didn't measure actual physical age, but _mental_ age! That's why –!"

"That's why our potion didn't work," George said slowly. "Of course. That'd be just like Dumbledore to pull something like that – and here we thought the potion was pure genius." George rubbed his head, grinning slightly; there was a lot more to the headmaster than met the eye ... and he was still learning _that_ after seven years of Hogwarts.

"You're lucky no one seemed to notice it before," Hermione brought him back to earth with prim logic. "Or, you could just tell them Fred went over first, so it would only affect him ... I'm sure you can think of something."

George nodded.

"Right." Hermione resumed pacing. "We'll have to get our stories straight, just in case either of us slip up; oh, we'll have to have a plan, to know exactly what's going to happen when, and what we'll have to alter. We can't do it now – Harry and Ron will get suspicious if I'm away too long."

"How about tomorrow, then?" George offered. "Just say you're off to the library to study or whatever, that'll keep them away for a few hours."

Hermione nodded distractedly. "We'll meet back here after lunch, then. Until then, be careful what you say or do around anyone – the slightest change might turn the future on its head, and our foreknowledge is our only weapon right now."

"Until then?"

Their gazes met: George hopeful but determined, Hermione already distracted with her planning.

"Until then," she echoed, allowing the faintest smile. As he turned to the door she added, quietly, "And George?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

_To be continued...  
><em>

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><p>Author's Note: I suppose I should mention some of the dialogue above in the goblet scene comes almost directly from GoF. :)<p>

Please review!_  
><em>


	3. Chance and Champions

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Many thanks to the awesome people who reviewed! :) And now ... there is now a poll for this story on my profile. It is of vital importance (lol) so go vote now!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Chance and Champions<strong>

The Great Hall was louder than it had ever been in George's memory that night as the students waited impatiently for the feast to end; every few moments eyes traveled to the flaming stone Goblet set in front of the four long house tables, some students leaning all the way out into the aisles to better survey it.

George, however, was more content to enjoy the feast: he hadn't eaten quite so well since, well, he had lost his primary reason for living. With one ear he listened to Fred and Lee bantering over the matter of Hogwarts's champion as he loaded his plate with seconds of everything.

"Hope it's Angelina," said Fred. "I swear, if it's that pretty-boy Diggory, that's it, I'm handing in my transfer to Beauxbatons."

"That's a girls' school, mate," Lee sniggered.

"I know. Your point is?"

George followed their gaze to the Ravenclaw table, where their future sister in law was talking in very fast French with her neighbour, complaining about Hogwarts's appearance again, by her irritated gestures and toss of her silvery-blond hair. George stifled a snort and quickly bent over his mashed potatoes.

_If they only knew..._

It wasn't long afterward that the golden dishes lay at last empty and Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table. "The Goblet of Fire is nearly ready to make its decision," he declared to the suddenly deathly silent audience. "Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber –" he indicated a side door behind the long teachers' table, "– where they will be receiving their first instructions."

At the end of his speech, silence again ensconced the darkened Hall; no one dared speak. All eyes were on the brightly glimmering blue flames dancing within the Goblet. And then, suddenly, the flames glowed red; with a crackle, a bit of parchment shot into the air, and the crowd gasped as one.

Dumbledore caught the bit of parchment, unfolded it, and read out by the firelight, "The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron, a few seats down, as the Hall exploded in applause; he craned his head as the teen made his shuffling way silently down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, turned right, and disappeared through the side door.

After a breathless moment of excitement, all eyes once again were upon the Goblet. Again the fire glowed red; and again it spat a bit of parchment into Dumbledore's hand.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," he continued, "is Fleur Delacour."

George grinned, trying very hard not to laugh as next to him Fred and Lee wolf-whistled. Fleur stood up, shook back her mane of silvery hair, and drifted along the aisle, past the staff table, and through the door.

As she disappeared from sight, a thick silence shrouded the hall; in every upturned face shone expectant excitement. Then the Goblet of Fire blazed red; the flames licked up into the air, a sheaf of paper drifting downward. Dumbledore caught it and lifted it to the light, pausing a moment to read the scrawled name. The silence lasted a moment longer than all the others – or perhaps it was just his imagination...

"The Hogwarts champion will be," Dumbledore hesitated a moment longer, "George Weasley."

The Gryffindors reacted in slow motion. Those who had obviously not yet heard of the beard incident leaped to their feet, cheering; by the sound of it, some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had joined in, too. Yet another dozen or so heads whipped in his direction and stared, clearly wondering how he had done it, how he had tricked the Goblet into thinking he was six months older...

Beside him Fred was mouthing wordlessly; George could not meet his twin's eye. Across the table, Ron and Harry were equally staring in shock; Hermione had suddenly gone pale. They had not planned for this. No, Dumbledore must have made a mistake; Cedric Diggory was supposed to be Hogwarts champion...

He was still sitting rooted to the spot when Fred gave him a shove. "He said your name, you know," he hissed. "Go on, move."

"But I'm not –" George began urgently as Fred practically forced him into the aisle. Fred made a noise in his throat.

"Bugger that, the Goblet chose you! Now go!"

Halting applause followed him all the way to the front of the Hall, where George felt the eyes of every student and teacher on the back of his head. He strived to ignore them, his eyes steadily directed at the door ahead.

Hermione was going to_ murder_ him after this.

Once the door had closed behind him, George blinked in the sudden silent darkness; he crept down the stone steps into a small chamber lined with whispering portraits and headed with a roaring fire. Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour were already waiting; as they glanced up at him, their eyes traveling from his feet to his bright red hair, he knew they were analyzing him. Even if mentally he was nearly four years their senior, it was still intimidating to be sized up by a scowling international Quidditch sensation and a dazzling half-Veela.

George exhaled a long breath and forced himself to smile. "Hey, suppose we should introduce ourselves, then? I'm George."

"Fleur," the half-Veela supplied, tossing her lengthy sheet of silvery hair over her shoulder.

"Viktor," nodded the third member. They fell silent; George wandered aimlessly, knowing at any moment now, out in the Hall, the Goblet would expel a fourth name...

The surrounding portraits started shifting and whispering among one another. Ah, right on time. George turned and flashed a grin at the pale-faced fourth year venturing into their midst.

"Hiya, Harry, come to join the party?"

Harry only shook his head, too shaken to speak. In a moment there came a clatter behind him and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, accompanied by Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, and Mr Crouch, descended the stairs toward them, already in heated debate, by the sound of it.

"What I do not understand is how two students who are plainly underage managed to be chosen as Hogwarts champions," Professor McGonagall said, nostrils flaring. "If I hadn't known that you had drawn that age line yourself, Albus..."

"Perhaps that is the problem," Karkaroff countered, "that your age line simply did not work."

"Outrageous!" said Professor McGonagall indignantly, drawing herself up. "They must have – they must have found some way around it –!"

Professor Dumbledore held up a hand. "It will do no good to go laying blame now – I am afraid the damage is done. There are to be four Triwizard champions."

Karkaroff tensed; Fleur made a noise in her throat like an angry cat.

"But, Professor Dumbly-dore," began Madame Maxime. "It is not fair for Hogwarts to be 'aving two champions!"

"If we had known your age line wouldn't do anything we would have brought more students for selection!" Karkaroff growled. "We will resubmit names and have the Goblet draw until each school has two champions."

Dumbledore was still smiling gently. "But there is only one problem with that. The Goblet, I am afraid, is extinguished, and will not light again until the beginning of the next tournament."

"That is far from -!"

"It is in the rules," Mr Crouch broke in, stepping out of the shadows; his voice was weary, and he looked very much as though he did not want to be here. "Both the boys were chosen by the Goblet. They must now compete, for better or for worse; they are magically bound to do so, as it were."

Dumbledore glanced around at the other two heads of schools, his expression pleasant in the flicker of firelight. "Now, then, Mr Crouch, if you please, the instructions ... unless anyone has an alternative...?"

Neither Madame Maxime nor Karkaroff responded; the giantess was pink-faced and glared at him, while Karkaroff looked murderous. Mr Crouch cleared his throat.

"Now, then ... the first task. Yes..." He stepped forward into the firelight, looking startlingly like a ghost; his face was pale, dark circles underlining his gaze. Staring at him, George remembered with a jolt that within the year Voldemort would likely murder him. "The first task is designed to test your daring, so we are not going to be telling you what it is..."

_Dragons,_ George thought automatically, drifting out of focus as he already knew quite well what to expect for the next three tasks.

"Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard ... very important ..."

_Dragons, dragons, dragons. Wait – how the _hell _am I going to face a dragon? _George tuned back in with difficulty, swallowing back the panic now fluttering in his throat.

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. In the meantime, the champions are not allowed to ask for or to accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first task armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is complete." Mr Crouch glanced around the room, surveying each of the four sombre-faced champions. "Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

_...Brilliant._ George was suddenly grinning. That, at least, made it seem a bit more worthwhile. No use studying again for exams he had already written, he supposed.

"Now, then," said Dumbledore, looking around at them all and smiling, "I think our champions should see to getting some rest – after all, a lot of work lies ahead of them."

The champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang started off frostily with their proctors; neither looked particularly pleased with the arrangements, and Fleur could be heard talking in very rapid French with Madame Maxime. George glanced at Harry and nodded; the Gryffindors set off for the tower together.

"Well," said George cheerily, as they crossed the now-deserted Great Hall, "bet the common room's going crazy right now. I hope Fred thought to get us some Butterbeer."

Harry made an indistinct reply, lost in his own thoughts. They soon reached the portrait hole, Harry uttering the password ("Balderdash"), and the door swung open to a blast of noise. Hands were then yanking them through the portrait hole into the midst of what seemed to be a roaring party already in full swing. The duo were soon separated in the crowd, and George was accosted by his twin and Lee.

"How the bloody hell did you manage it?" Fred bellowed over the chanting crowd, but he was grinning wildly as he forced Butterbeer and a handful of crisps into his brother's grasp. George only shrugged and grinned back at him.

"Luck, maybe? My charming good looks?"

"No kidding," said Lee, shaking his head.

"You're a horrid liar, George, and you know it," Fred scoffed, making his heart for a moment flip with fear; could he have guessed...? "You know I'm the one who got the good looks!"

_...Or not._ George shook his head, smirking. "You can always dream, Fred."

"Oi, you take that back." Fred lunged to ruffle his hair, and George let him, mainly because he was just so damn glad to have someone to banter with again. He finally shook himself loose, did his best to flatten his hair into something remotely presentable, and mock-glared at his brother.

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome, dear brother o' mine."

The crowd congregated around them, then, and George allowed himself to shake hands with dozens of people he only vaguely remembered and endured the merciless teasing of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. After the Gryffindor Chasers finally moved off, George chanced a glance at his watch. It was nearing midnight – and all things considered, he was tired already.

"Hey, Fred, what say you take over from here?" he grinned, noting a group of blushing third year girls making their way over and giggling about something. Fred raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know ... you _are_ a celebrity now, after all. You'd better get used to the fame."

"Are you kidding? We put our names in together," George accused. "I'm dragging you down with me."

Fred considered. "Well, all right, if you promise to split it equally – the tasks and all."

George blinked, "Well, sure, if you want to do the hard part for me." Fred grimaced and gave him a shove.

"I bet I can score better than you anyway, being the handsomer twin."

"You try that, Fred." George grinned and handed off his half-empty Butterbeer, making his careful way across the room to the boys' staircase. He kept an eye out for a familiar bushy-haired witch, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen; most likely she had retired already, knowing her particular love of parties and all. George refrained from rolling his eyes as he ascended the winding steps and at last entered the welcome darkness of their familiar dorm.

He fell into bed at once, marvelling at how much a single day could change his perspective ... George grinned slightly on the darkness, not caring if he had to take on dragons or Voldemort himself.

He had his other half again, goddamn it, and he'd do anything in his power to keep it that way.

_To be continued..._

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><p>AN: (1) All right, it's mainly in the movie that Beauxbatons appears to be an all-girls' school ... at the moment I can't remember if it was canon in the books or not. Feel free to correct me on this. (2) Some dialogue – particularly the Heads and Dumbledore's speech – is again from GoF. Sorry, it's kind of inevitable at the moment. :P (3) Cedric is, apparently, alive, he's just not the champion. Frankly, going back in time to save your brother's life is crazy enough to make you worthy of being a champion. :D

Please review! And don't forget to vote ... George's fate is in your hands! (Dun dun dun...)


	4. Marauding for a Cause

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Wow, I'm actually a little surprised at the vote tallies so far. :P Please vote if you haven't yet done so! When the poll is closed, which should be in a chapter or so, I'll let you know the winner and who I personally would choose. ;)

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Marauding for a Cause<strong>

George awakened with an odd bubble of happiness in his stomach. He lay there a moment, considering the dark curve of ceiling, wondering why ... After all, what he had to look forward to today was just more sifting through the boxes of their old stuff that their Mum had inexplicably kept after they left school, and that wasn't to mention packages upon packages of unsold merchandise that he still needed to find a use for...

And then George remembered.

He sat up very suddenly and had to stop a cry rising in his throat; there in the bed across from his was Fred. Fred, fully alive; his limbs strewn out almost comically in sleep, the bed sheets helplessly tangled about his body. That was his brother, all right, the restless sleeper. George grinned slightly and forced himself to get out of bed.

Silently he donned fresh robes and, since it was far too early on a Sunday for any of the other students to even consider getting up, he decided to make himself useful; he nicked a bit of parchment and a quill from his trunk and then paused on his tiptoed course for the door.

On cat's feet he ventured back to Fred's bed and stood there a moment, watching the rise and fall of his brother's chest, assuring himself that Fred was very much alive and would still be when he got back. He hesitated a moment longer – knowing full well that if Fred knew what he was doing, he would murder him on the spot – then he leaned forward and very gently brushed the tousled hair off his brother's forehead, momentarily touching his lips to his brow; then he withdrew just as soundlessly.

_Welcome back, Fred..._

Thus assured George hastened out of the dormitory, leaving the other sixth year boys to doze on.

He passed through the kitchen on his course downstairs and earned a bit of toast from the house-elves there. He did not stay long, to their disappointment, but promised to come back sometime with Fred; then munching on his breakfast he headed out to the Owlery.

He climbed the long spiralling steps up into the top of the dank tower. When he pushed open the heavy door, he was met with warm air and the low hooting of the many owls shuffling about in the rafters, some dozing with their heads under their wings, others flitting out and in as they pleased through the high window. George blinked a moment in the dusky chamber, softly closing the door behind him with his foot. It was then that he realized he was not alone; Harry glanced up from where he was tying a letter to the leg of a large barn owl.

"Hey," said George.

"Hey," echoed Harry, a bit more stiffly than usual. George glanced around the room.

"Not taking Hedwig today?"

Harry shook his head.

"Mind if I use her, then? I expect she'll be a bit quicker than the school owls."

"All right," Harry nodded, and whistled softly to the snowy owl perched over their heads with her back to them; she clicked her beak in annoyance, but fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder with a reproachful noise at the barn owl who was occupying her usual space.

"Hey," Harry muttered ruefully, as Hedwig snapped her beak irritably at the other owl and instead landed a sharp peck on his fingers. "I'll give you a letter, now – calm down."

George unfolded his parchment against the windowsill and quickly set out to scrawl a note.

_Hey, Charlie –_

_You were right about some crazy exciting stuff happening at Hogwarts this year. Well, you'll probably hear the news sooner or later, so we'll just let you be surprised then. You did, after all, set us such a wonderful example this summer._

_Fred and I are doing quite excellently at the moment, if I do say so myself – we can't spare any details, regrettably, in case this letter falls into Mum's hands. Keep this to yourself, now, but we do believe this will be our best year yet._

_Now, on to business – believe it or not, in the interest of schoolwork we have a question for you. We're studying dragons at the moment_ _in Care of Magical Creatures, so of course we deemed it appropriate to seek only the best source of firsthand experience. In particular, we were wondering what you know about taming a particularly angry dragon – just in case it happens, you know, we can't risk losing our most handsome looks – and any other dragon-taming tips you might have._

_Cheers,_

_Fred and George_

George grinned slightly as he signed the letter with a flourish; how naturally it came back to him to write himself in the plural. Well, whatever would keep suspicions at bay; not that anything they ever did was completely scrupulous, anyway.

He quickly rolled up the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg – who seemed a little more complacent now that the barn owl had flown off – and she gave a soft hoot when he instructed, "Take that to Charlie, all right?"

Soundlessly as a ghost Hedwig spread her wings and soared out into the sunrise; Harry and George stood there a moment, watching her arcing progress across the grounds. Then, as she climbed higher, her white form was lost in the low-bearing clouds.

"So," George said, grinning slightly, "I guess that makes us rivals now."

"I didn't –" Harry began automatically.

"Put your name in the Goblet? I know," George cut him off. When Harry glanced sharply at him, mouth still open, George grinned. "Come on, mate, I know Granger'd have your head and Ron's before either of you got close to the Goblet. Nah – it would've taken someone mighty experienced and sneaky to do that."

"But the Goblet rejected your name," Harry pointed out; George froze.

"Ah – it must have made a mistake, then," he improvised with a laugh. "Now that I think about it – it must have gotten confused because two of us submitted at once, or something. You heard McGonagall."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose so..." He ventured away from the window, though his shoulders seemed considerably lighter.

"Thanks, at least," he said after a moment. "I thought because, well, because you were chosen that you'd be angry about me being the fourth champion."

George laughed at that. "Us? Angry with you? _Never,_ Potter – you'll see, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang won't know what hit them. Together, the two of us," he slung an arm around Harry's shoulders, grinning broadly, "we're gonna _rock_ this thing."

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><p>Hermione glanced up at the creak of the opening door; she smiled faintly at the familiar red-haired figure stepping cautiously into the room, glancing about, before lowering her eyes again to the strewn parchment in front of her.<p>

"What happened in here?" George asked, his incredulous voice echoing across the chamber. The previous headquarters of Dumbledore's Army had vanished – in its place was something more akin to Hogwarts's library, pillars stretching away to a distant ceiling, shelves upon shelves of books lining the walls; here and there were various chalkboards that were already heavily drawn over, dotted with diagrams and scrawled words. Hermione now sat at the head of the room in the glow of the high-paned windows at an oak desk; by her feet lay a small cauldron with an eerie silvery light siphoning off of it, and he knew it at once to be a pensieve. There was a second chair next to her, to which she gestured thoughtlessly as she furrowed her brow at something in front of her.

George sat, uncertainly. "When did you find time to do all this?"

"Last night." Hermione barely stifled a yawn behind her palm, gesturing about the room. "I've nearly worked it all out – the timeline of last time, I mean – and I'm still working out what might have changed because of last night."

George nodded, lowering his eyes. "Hermione – about that. I didn't know –"

"You couldn't have," Hermione said flatly. "Never mind that now. We would have to start changing things sooner or later; we'll just have to have our plans ready sooner."

George scanned the mass of papers across the desk; lifting one up, he recognized Hermione's neat script. "So, we'll just have to memorize all this, and then decide what we're going to do?" he guessed.

"Almost." Hermione shuffled about the papers on the desk, muttering to herself, retrieved a worn sheaf of parchment and brandished it at him. "Here."

George picked it up, and his eyebrows shot up. 'Hermione, isn't this...?"

"The Marauder's Map? Yes."

"But didn't we give it to -?"

"Yes, and I just borrowed it for a minute. I gave it back already," she said, already distracted by her notes again. George tilted his head, bemused.

"How is that possible...?"

"That there is the real map. The one in Harry's trunk is just a very identical copy."

"Wow ... you're brilliant, you know that?"

Hermione's cheeks went slightly pink. "I thought it might help. Go on, now, open it."

George withdrew his wand and tapped the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." As he spoke the last word, inky lines webbed outward from the tip of his wand; they twisted and wormed across the paper until he was staring at a very familiar diagram of Hogwarts school, denoted with the phrase, _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Mischief, proudly present the Marauder's Map._

Hermione leaned forward. "Now, what if we were to say _... I solemnly swear that I am up to _good."

George snorted; but as she touched her wand to the map, the inky castle faded; in its place there arose small clouds of words, drifting across the page. Peering closer, George incredulously read the small print: _Horcruxes ... Dumbledore's Army ... Harry Potter ..._

"The password could use some work," he admitted, making Hermione roll her eyes, "but it looks cool ... what is it, exactly?"

"You just tell it a date, a period in time, or a specific someone you want to know about," Hermione explained. "Then it should call up what previously happened – and it should record what happens in this timeline, too. Like this." She tapped the parchment again and said in a clear voice, "October 31, 1994."

At one the bubbles of phrases faded; in their place words began to spread across the page, written by an invisible hand. _October 31, 1994: The Goblet of Fire announces the school champions to be Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory, and Harry Potter._ As they looked on, the words _Cedric Diggory_ erased themselves; then it read, _George Weasley._

"I put in everything I could remember," Hermione said, indicating the pensieve sitting beside the desk. "We'll use this to keep track of what's going on – and when you're done, just say, _Excellence Achieved_."

"Hermione, seriously, I don't think I can use these passwords."

Hermione regarded him coolly; he sighed. "Fine."

"In any case, we still have a lot of work ahead of us." She glanced wearily across the room and pointed to one of the chalk boards. "Turn that one around, would you?"

George did so, and found the other side littered with drawings; he raised an eyebrow. "Fancy yourself an artist, now?"

"Voldemort's seven Horcruxes," Hermione overrode him coolly. "You know what those are, right?"

"Vaguely," said George. "You-Know-Who used them so no one could kill him, etc, etc."

"Right. And if we plan to stop him..."

"...we have to destroy them all," George finished for her. "Brilliant."

"The problem being," Hermione went on, "they're nasty little things to destroy – only irreversible magic can do it: Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, that sort of thing. But first we should worry about actually obtaining them." She cleared her throat and pointed to the first picture, which had a broad _X_ through it.

"The Diary. Ginny got a hold of that one, and you know how _that_ turned out. Harry destroyed it unknowingly in second year with a Basilisk fang."

"Next, the Gaunt Ring ... in our sixth year, Dumbledore will find it and destroy it, but not before wearing it himself – and causing his own death."

"I thought Snape...?"

"Dumbledore told Snape to kill him. I'll get to that. The ring also contains the Death Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows – so it would be in our interest to find it first. I'm assuming from what Harry told me that it's hidden in the remains of the Gaunt house – they're Voldemort's ancestors."

George nodded.

"Slytherin's locket – it's currently in Grimmauld Place. Kreacher will take it while we're cleaning. Hufflepuff's cup – it's in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault in Gringotts. Harry, Ron, and I will steal it eventually."

"A criminal record, too?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem," she continued louder, as though she had not heard him, "is in this very Room of Requirement – in the room of hidden things. Students who have stuff to hide leave it there."

"Hey, I think Fred and I found that place once," George said thoughtfully. "Wondered where it went ... no idea how we didn't make the connection..."

"Sixth is his pet snake Nagini – we don't know whether or not she's a Horcrux just yet, however. Neville will kill her during the final battle with Gryffindor's sword."

"And the seventh," Hermione indicated the last drawing, of a lightning bolt, "Voldemort himself doesn't even know about. Harry became a Horcrux the night his parents were killed."

"So to kill Voldemort, we have to kill Harry first?" George asked. "That ... is so wrong."

Hermione looked ill. "I haven't figured that part out yet. For the most part, we can find the Horcruxes ourselves – barring the one in Gringotts – and if we could just find a safe place to keep them for now, we should be all right."

"Question," said George. "Does – er – You-Know-Who know when one of his Horcruxes is destroyed?"

Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I don't believe so. At least, through his scar, Harry would have been able to tell if he did."

George nodded uncertainly. "All right then, when do we go Horcrux hunting?"

"That's the problem. We can't exactly sneak out from school – all right, _I_ can't, don't look at me like that – and even if we wait until summer, we still won't be able to Apparate or use magic legally."

"I will," said George. "I'll be seventeen in April ... but, yeah, you're right, I don't think I could do this thing on my own."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "It'll mean waiting another year for me..."

"Two years," George said uncertainly. "D'you think that's too long to wait?"

"Hmm ... actually, because of what happened when you put your name in the Goblet, I'm wondering if ... if the underage magic wards have broken already..." she said slowly.

"Shall I test them then?" George said.

"Yes ... if we knew for sure, that would be best ... then we'll know what we can get away with."

George nodded. "I'll see to it, don't worry."

"Right – we'll hold off on the Horcruxes for now. For this year, mainly, our focus is to keep you and Harry alive."

"That's nice," said George dryly. Hermione shot him a look that clearly reprimanded him; George straightened and adopted a considerably more serious air.

"The best we can do for now is to try not to muck up the timeline too much with your being champion," Hermione advised. "We'll keep our involvement to a minimum and just work on getting ready ... yes, that's probably best," she finished with a long sigh, massaging her temples. Suddenly she looked a lot older.

"Right then, I suppose that's it?" George glanced around again at the mass of work she had done; what she had done for him ... A lump rose in his throat. He stepped around the desk and laid a hand on her shoulder, Hermione jumping slightly at the contact.

"You've done enough," he said gently, squeezing her shoulder. "You should really get some rest now, 'Mione, you look exhausted."

She glanced sideways at him in minute surprise at a name reserved for another's use, but said nothing as George helped her to her feet and pocketed the now-blank Marauder's Map.

"I still have predictions to finish..." Hermione mumbled, not fully protesting as he led her to the door.

"Nonsense, there's always tomorrow. You look dead on your feet – I won't have you getting sick because of me, all right?"

Hermione's mumbled protest was lost on his ears as he gently dragged her from the sanctuary of the Room of Requirement.

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><p>Despite all odds, life for George Weasley passed in a surprisingly normal fashion for the next two weeks.<p>

The first few days had been an unwelcome jolt – getting up early again, for one thing, shortly followed by the long and perilous process of coaxing, and then threatening Fred out of bed (he had forgotten his twin was so adamantly against mornings); and he had nearly had a panic attack the first time McGonagall asked him to demonstrate a spell in class – after years of the DA and experimenting with their shop, he wasn't sure he could go back to the level of sixth year Transfiguration. Fortunately – but not so much for his ego – in his anxiety he mispronounced the spell anyway, and blew up the pillow he was supposed to turn into a pig.

After the first few days passed, he wondered why he had been so worried – there was so much he had forgotten in four years that his occasional strokes of brilliance didn't amount to overly much, on average. In fact, his efforts even earned a smile out of the normally-strict McGonagall, who probably thought the twins were finally showing some interest in schoolwork. If she only knew.

He didn't know how things were going on Hermione's side of the spectrum – knowing her, she was probably breezing through her courses with all the more flying colours, ever annoying Ron and Harry. For all their planning, in practice they didn't get as much time to talk; the most he saw of her was at the Gryffindor table at mealtimes, and then was hardly time to discuss the fate of the world.

In the meantime, George somehow got through a second helping of his classes: though History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures made no impact on him, either, this time around, he paid particular mind when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Even knowing their teacher was an imposter, he admittedly did know his stuff, and when that Friday the fake Mad-Eye Moody announced they were to be working on the Unforgiveable Curses, he was the first to volunteer.

The rest of the class looked on in unease as George stepped into the cleared area near the front of the class; he raised his head defiantly, teeth clenched, not daring to move as Barty Crouch Jr. raised his wand.

"_Imperio!_"

Instantly it was though a fog had filled George's mind; he was in a void, an oddly pleasant feeling for once not be haunted by the nightmares of what he had once lost. He drifted, unknowing of the other students looking on or of the silent classroom around him; in that moment he doubted he could even recall his own name, if asked.

Then a voice awoke at the back of his mind. _Run at the wall,_ the voice whispered. _Go on, run..._

_Run at the wall._ George, in his complacent state, could see nothing wrong with this plan; without conscious thought he turned, orienting himself toward the far wall. Without focusing on it, he knew the wall was there.

_Run._

_"Well, that would be kind of stupid, wouldn't it?"_ Suddenly Fred was there in his head, his sardonic tone making George pause, and for a moment, he remembered everything. He was George Weasley. Fred was alive. He was going to keep Fred alive.

_Run at the wall. It will be fun. _The fog was coming back, tendrils closing in on his memories and pulling them down, down out of his grasp. But George was suddenly clutching tightly to a single image, a single word.

_Fred._

He was George Weasley; he belonged with Fred; and he would _not_ run at the wall, damn it!

A strangled noise escaped him; the void faded and abruptly he was back standing in the center of the classroom, dragging halting shallow breaths; he blinked and glanced around, finding himself standing maybe one step from where he had been previously, but no farther. The eyes of the sixth year Gryffindors bored into the back of his skull; hesitantly he glanced back up at Professor Moody, who looked as astonished as George had ever seen him; both his normal and electric blue eye were focused on his face.

At last Moody cleared his throat, and his magical eye zoomed away again, spinning rapidly as it took in the class as a whole. "Yes – excellent display, Mr Weasley. Twenty points to Gryffindor ... Right then, who's next?"

George tried to move back to his desk and found his legs were trembling almost too much to walk; he had hardly sank down beside an oddly pale Fred when a knock on the door rang out, and a small figure burst into the room.

"Ex – excuse me, Pr-professor Moody?" the boy, who could not possibly have been older than second year, gasped out. "I, er, I'm supposed to take George Weasley upstairs – the champions are supposed to meet –"

"Very well," said Moody, with a curt nod in George's direction, who rose and collected the bag at his feet. He shot a glance at Fred, who nodded, and George started off with the second year, chest still heaving as though he'd run a race.

The second year left him at a third floor classroom; George hesitated outside a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the wall. It was rather difficult to get his thoughts in order; but before he could figure out exactly what was going on, another figure came down the hall accompanied by a chattering guide.

"Bye, Harry! Good luck!" shouted the small student, giving a bright wave before scurrying off; George pushed off from the wall and plastered on a grin.

"Hey, Potter." Harry gave him a nod, but he was looking rather disgruntled. The two entered the room together.

Within the classroom, George immediately recognized Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour – standing apart, Krum brooding in the corner, Fleur casting about with a bored air. A man hunched over a camera that was puffing smoke beside a woman in magenta robes. As the duo entered, a rather large and flamboyant man in a Wasps uniform rushed toward them; for some reason George's insides suddenly spiked with dislike.

"Ah, there we are! Nothing to worry about now, it's just the Wand Weighing ceremony ... the other judges should be along in a mo'..."

As he ushered them toward the other two champions, George's memory stirred: Ludo Bagman ... a bet at the Quidditch World Cup ... Ah, that was right: he had paid them off in leprechaun's gold, hadn't he? George rolled his eyes slightly; why they had wasted a whole year chasing him, when Harry would hand them the prize money at the end of the year...

Or he could just get it himself, now.

George found he liked that idea.

He tuned back in to see Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff had arrived; between them was the thin figure of a pale man with eyes as wide as silvery moons. George idly noted the woman he had seen earlier now skulking in the corner with a quill busily scribbling in her lap; a reporter, apparently. Harry looked all the more disgruntled.

"May I introduce Mr Ollivander?" Dumbledore said merrily. "He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition prior to the Tournament." He and the other judges took their places at a long table robed in velvet, and Mr Ollivander called Fleur forward first.

After sufficiently looking it over, he produced a bouquet of flowers from her wand and proffered both to Fleur; then he examined Krum's, deemed it also in good condition, and from its tip launched a flock of tiny birds, which soon disappeared out the open window. Mr Ollivander glanced around the room.

"Now, Mr Weasley, you next."

George advanced and handed over his wand a bit self-consciously: on it he could see several marks of the scrapes he'd gotten into in the past and sheepishly hoped Mr Ollivander wouldn't comment in front of the others.

"Ah ... I recognize this one, now," Mr Ollivander said, his luminescent eyes brightening a little. "Yes, I wouldn't soon forget the – ah – exuberance of you and your brother."

George grinned at that; he and Fred must have blown up half of his shop before they had settled on their wands.

"Let's see ... ebony, unicorn hair, thirteen inches ... his was redwood and dragon heartstring, fourteen inches – he does still have the same, does he not?" The query was a little stern, and George smirked.

"Yeah, 'course."

Mr Ollivander nodded and gave the wand a flick; a bright blaze of flame emerged, for a moment illuminating the room; then with a satisfied nod he handed the wand back.

"Ah, now that leaves – Mr Potter..."

After what seemed the longest pause of consideration, Mr Ollivander too declared Harry's wand to be in prim condition; then Dumbledore stepped forward with a twinkle in his eye.

"Thank you all. You may go back to your lessons now – or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end –"

George grinned at that, none too eager to undergo the Imperius curse again, but before he could make for the door with Harry, Ludo Bagman had leaped to his feet.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos! All the judges and champions!"

This took a lot longer than George thought he had the patience for. He had long watched Mr Weasley fiddle with a Muggle camera, uttering excited explanations all the while to the boys who honestly couldn't give a damn either way, and figured that the professional should have been quicker. George didn't seem to be the only one on edge. As the photographer continuously got them to tilt their heads slightly more to the left, and "smile like you mean it, now", George thought he might explode; and no sooner were they finished than had the reporter jumped up and declared they should all do individual shots...

Dinner was nearly over by the time George made it down to the Hall and fell into his seat next to Fred and Lee with a long sigh.

"Enjoying your new fame?" Fred teased even as he reached over and began piling steak and potatoes onto George's plate.

George made a faint noise of thanks and grabbed his fork, starving and irritated after that afternoon's episode. "_God_, that took forever."

"You didn't miss much," Lee advised. "Kenneth Towler crashed into a desk and Angelina and Alicia started dancing on the tables ... nothing much new..."

There was an odd note in his voice; even distracted as he was, George picked up on it and frowned at his friends. They were both staring at him.

"...What?" said George.

Fred and Lee glanced at one another. "In Defence..." Lee said slowly, "...what you did, throwing off the curse just like that, on your first try, it was insane ... I mean, when he put it on _me_ I couldn't even remember who I was or anything..."

"That's the point, isn't it?" George said roughly. He didn't feel too much like talking about it; though the effects of the curses might have been amusing, in the war they sure weren't ... and he had seen too many witches and wizards go that way...

"We just want to know how you managed it, mate," said Fred, "so I can borrow some of your genes."

"I don't know how it happened," George cut him off. "It was just like ... a voice in my head, asking why I should follow through with what the curse said. And then it just sort of fell apart." He shrugged. He didn't need to mention it had been Fred's voice.

"Well, all right, then," said Lee, wisely knowing when to back off. They returned to their meals in silence for a moment, but George still felt Fred's eyes on the back of his head; he raised his head to glare at his twin.

"What, it's not like I'm any bloody different!"

"...No, 'course not," Fred quickly interceded, ducking his head again and stabbing at his mashed potatoes. "It's just, well, we all thought it a bit freaky..."

"_What_?"

Fred drew a breath. "...Right before you threw the curse off, you were screaming my name."

George's mouth went dry; he did not meet his twin's eye. "Really..." he mumbled. Suddenly devoid of appetite he pushed his plate away. "I ... I'll be upstairs, all right?"

Without waiting for an answer he stood up, shouldering his bag and making at a quick pace from the Hall, striving with all his might to fight the burn of old scars suddenly awakened anew in his consciousness.

_To be continued..._

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><p>AN: Please review, and don't forget to vote if you haven't already!


	5. Memories Revisited

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter ... for reasons evident in this fanfic. :P

Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay - I've been busy with exams and other distractions here, but I'll try to get the next few up in the following weeks, all right? :) And now, for what you've been waiting for, the poll results: will there be a pairing with George?

And the answer you've chosen is: no pairing! All right, that makes my life easier. :D Trailing by only one vote was Luna Lovegood, interestingly enough, and in last place, with no votes, was Alicia Spinnet. I was a little surprised Angelina didn't get more votes, but then I remembered what sort of story I'm writing. :D

if you're curious, in truth, I prefer to ship George with an OC. :D (I know, it's terrible of me.) I don't particularly like the canon pairing, and my chosen character is ... how should I put this ... different, personality-wise, from the canon possibilities. Anyway, I think they have an interesting dynamic, and it's really the opposite of Fred and Hermione. I'm hoping to upload some of my Harry Potter OC fics sometime soon.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Memories Revisited<strong>

They were all standing there, in what remained of the Great Hall. The image of grandeur of his Hogwarts days was destroyed; what remained of the long house tables was strewn with bodies, mangled and bloody. The taste of ash clogged his lungs; the atmosphere stank of sweat and blood and he could almost feel it seeping into his pores not unlike the thin line of blood running down from the side of his head to his jaw.

George forced aside his exhaustion, blearily searching out his family in the bedraggled crowd; people were gathering, shouting out their joy and hugging friends and family, exalting their survival and the long awaited defeat of You-Know-Who. Somehow the echo of joy seemed misplaced in this place filled with death and despair.

There they were: the flash of red on the edge of the crowd. George moved stiffly toward them, silently taking tally of their injuries: Mrs Weasley with her face buried in her husband's shoulder; Bill, holding to a shaken and pale Fleur; Charlie with his robes torn and an ugly burn down one arm; Percy sitting precariously on the edge of the Gryffindor table, nearly blind without his spectacles; Ron and Ginny holding up Hermione, who looked faint.

Some feeling, some premonition settled in his chest and George felt the world fall away from him; the Weasleys glanced up as he drifted into their midst, no longer aware of his feet moving forward. Mrs Weasley's sobs redoubled; Charlie stepped forward as though to confront him, then decided otherwise; Percy's face drained of colour and he looked as if he sincerely wished to drop dead on the spot.

George did not look at Percy or the others; he stepped forward with purpose he didn't feel, and at last they inevitably drew back from the table. From him.

For a long moment George couldn't remember breathing, nonetheless thinking; he was staring back at his own figure limp on that bloodstained table, the ginger hair matted with blood, robes dusty and ragged. Fred's eyes were wide and glassy and yet so very blue. His lips curved at a grin as though he was laughing at them all, standing there so solemn without words, without a clue as what to do next.

George sank to his knees beside his twin's head, feeling the blood seep into the fabric of his jeans; he sat there with an utter blankness on his features as though it was him who lay there... Without conscious movement he was aware of Fred's hair in his hands, him clutching to his brother with a desperate need. The taste of ash was in his mouth, now, his tongue leaden and incapable of speech.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in blank vigil - distantly faces flickered past, and for a while his mother tried to hug him, her tears staining his front until gentle faceless hands pulled her away. For a time he was aware of Hermione there, wordlessly sitting next to him, the only indication of her presence something of a lingering lavender scent.

Daylight came and faltered again; by now the Hall had quieted, and it was two men in white robes who approached him now. There were hands under his arms, voices patiently instructing him to get to his feet, to join the rest upstairs.

George resisted with every muscle in his body. _Get off, get off,_ he wanted to scream, but the ashes were clogging his mouth. It was getting harder to breathe; the healers' voices sharpened; one of them had a hold around his chest and pulled him backward, away from Fred.

George yelled; he bit the healer and thrashed, anything to get away from the faceless voices commanding him away from his brother. _Fred. Fred. FRED!_ The second healer stepped in front of him then, blocking his view of his twin in the shroud of his white robe. The voices implored him; the hands tightened.

_Fred..._

No sound passed George's lips as he fell back limply in the healers' grasp, unable to fight, unable to cry as they dragged him away from the deadened silence of the Hall. Yet his eyes remained over their shoulder, on that halo of red hair, until the doors had closed softly behind them and he surrendered to the darkness.

George awoke in a cold sweat; gasping, he rolled over and peered through the darkness of the dormitory toward the glow of red numbers on Lee's alarm clock. It was just after six o'clock in the morning.

George ran a hand over his face, registering his skin to be clammy; his fingers lingered on the left side of his face, closing on the feel of his ear yet attached to his head. It was somewhat a foreign feeling, the flaps of skin warm beneath his fingers, and he forced himself to sit up and blink across to the bed next to his.

Fred. Fred was still alive, and sleeping. He sighed faintly at that, rubbing again at his temples as if enough agitation could send the nightmare from his mind. At least during the daylight hours he could distract himself; it was only at night, when they were silent, that That memory arose again in his consciousness. He couldn't get rid of it, no matter how he tried.

Shaking his head George dropped his feet to the floor and padded barefoot toward the door; he wasn't going back to that nightmare, and he well enough knew how grumpy the other sixth years were if awakened before their usual hour.

The common room was an alien territory when deserted; he crept between the crouched shadows of ruby couches, considering for a moment the coals flickering in the grate; then he turned and strode instead to the window.

He settled himself in an armchair to wait out the hours, watching snow spiral down past the glass. Far out, there was the lake, a stretch of glassy mirror: and there the Durmstrang ship bobbed tethered and forlorn, a dark blot against the landscape. George unblinkingly surveyed the scene to keep his raging thoughts at bay. Here, it was peaceful; he was alone.

_No_ - George's mind immediately protested that word and he clamped both hands to his head, fighting against the tide of memories. _No_ ... The dark memories slipped back beneath the surface as he dragged himself, forcefully, to a void, as he had consistently for two months in the future. George breathed out cautiously and lowered his hands.

Never alone. He would never be alone again, because even now he felt a part of him remained upstairs in Fred's bed. And there was a bit of Fred in his mind, a bit of him that had grown cold and desolate in the future.

George wondered if he was becoming schizophrenic.

It was cold in the common room, something he grew aware of distantly and he pulled his knees to his chest, rueing a little the fact that his pyjamas were too short. When had he had his last growth spurt? George settled his chin on his knees, eyes closed.

What was he getting himself into? he wondered abruptly. The Triwizard Tournament was just around the corner, suddenly a lot more intimidating and intrusive than it had seemed, last time around. Previously, it had only been a distant thought, a reminder when he saw Durmstrang and Beauxbatons uniforms out-of-place every day in his sixth year classes, but it had been something he had gotten used to eventually. Now, it seemed a lot more petrifying.

This was a lot more than he had bargained for, even when he had persuaded Hermione to help him set things right in this timeline. Who was he kidding - even if he had a few years future experience on him, that didn't change the fact that in one week he'd be facing down a bloody dragon. If only he had thought for a minute before putting his name in the Goblet - it had only been a whim, a prank, really, because there was no way in hell he'd have actually considered doing the thing.

Stupid Goblet had a horrid sense of humour, that was all.

George heaved a sigh and suppressed the faintest shiver in his shoulders - briefly he considered heading upstairs to grab an old Christmas jumper, but couldn't be bothered - and found his thoughts turning over to another chilling matter.

He had tried not to dwell on it, forcing the thought back alongside certain memories in a locked-off area of his mind, but it was there that lonely morning in front of the snowy window. The Department of Mysteries surfaced in his mind and he was again fighting alongside Hermione and Percy, the Death Eaters surging all around them. He remembered the werewolf lunging at them and then, like plunging into cold water, he and Hermione toppling through the Veil.

He didn't know what he had been thinking then; he didn't even know if he _had_ been thinking at all. A simple step back, that's all it was; that's what had taken them back. The horror etched on Percy's pale face and Hermione screaming as he pulled her into the abyss made him shudder.

At the time he couldn't have known the simple, unconscious step would have turned his world - and future - on its head. Yet, he had still done it, when he could have perhaps dodged sideways, or countered, there had to have been some other way. His memory wasn't clear enough to judge...

The chill still lingered in the goose-bumps along his arms and George had no choice but to accept the fact that he had done it, done it without thinking, for all he knew at the time casting off their souls for eternity with the action. And he also knew - with a terrible guilt - that he had done it without caring.

Footsteps on the stairs drove him from his thoughts and George glanced up sharply; his features eased into recognition as Hermione padded into view, wearing a housecoat over her lavender pyjamas, her hair tucked back in twin braids.

"Hey."

She gave a start and turned toward his seat. "George?" she whispered, cautiously moving toward him. "What are you doing here? It's not even seven yet..."

George shrugged, "Couldn't sleep. What're you doing?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Me, either."

George shifted, his joints cracking from sitting still so long as he withdrew his wand, pointing at a nearby armchair and sending it soaring over to them. Hermione nodded and took a seat next to him; she avoided his eye, her face pale, worrying with a loose strand of hair.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he mumbled before he could stop himself; she glanced up sharply.

"I told you not to -"

"I know. But I dragged you through the Veil ... I dragged you into this ... I could've killed you. I'm sorry."

Hermione now looked at him, her expression softening; hesitantly she reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. George registered that her fingers were warm.

"It's all right. We're here now and we'll make the best of it." She now paused, chewing on her lip as she considered her next words. "George ... I ... well, you couldn't have known what would happen, so I can't blame you..."

"Yes, you can," he said flatly, pulling his hand away; it was suddenly shaking. "Because I didn't know. Bloody hell, Hermione, I think I was trying to kill myself."

Hermione didn't answer to that. George turned away, drawing a long breath.

"You weren't there, the day before the ..." George stumbled, trying to find a way around the word _funeral_. "... the thing. I started thinking about it, seriously considering it ... Before anyone knew, or even _I_ knew really, I had gotten a hold of one of Mum's kitchen knives and..."

His fist closed over his left wrist, unconsciously, where the unmarred skin held ghostly scars. "Terrified Charlie when he found me. I made him swear not to tell anyone." He glanced up and met her wide chestnut eyes. "Don't tell anyone. Please."

He wasn't sure why he needed that reassurance when it was out of the question to tell anyone anything, anyway; but when Hermione reached over and took both his hands in her own small, smooth ones, it felt as though a heavy weight had eased off his chest.

"It won't happen again," she whispered. "I won't let either of you die, George. I promise I'll do everything I can."

He nodded, unable to speak, and allowed her to pull his head down to her chest and hug him until the sun started to glimmer on the horizon, out the window. George only closed his eyes, for the moment reprieved from his nightmares.

Silently, he thanked their lucky stars that he and Fred had Hermione, for they each owed her their lives.

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><p>The school reacted to their dual Gryffindor champions in split mindsets. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed eventually content – or at least willing – to accept George as their champion, though on the other hand Harry received the brunt of their glares; it seemed no matter what, negative attention just magnetically followed that boy around. Nevertheless, George had heard his share of rumours about how he had clandestinely entered his name in the cup – most of which he just laughed at for being so ridiculous.<p>

That seemed to be his solution at the moment: to laugh, as it was the only way to hide the deep pain that he knew now wouldn't fade, even with Fred back at his side. It didn't matter if he was again sixteen: nothing could erase what horror had been burned into his mind the day he lost him, or heal the emptiness that still throbbed somewhere deep in his heart. It was fear that kept him from bringing up what had nearly given him away that day in Defence; Fred seemed wise enough to let it lie, and so they moved on.

On the topic of Defence, Professor Moody had taken a particular interest to him after his demonstrated talent at throwing off curses; in fact, it had become an almost daily torture to the point where George always left class sore and irritable, now sporting several bruises from collisions with the walls and desks on the days he couldn't quite bring himself to disobey. Fred and Lee had no pity for the sadistic joy their teacher had in abusing him, however.

As well, George kept an eye out for anything suspiciously altered since their arrival in the past: Hermione's improved map helped immensely in that regard, as he had no idea, himself, if the steps he was going through were the same as four years ago ... barring a sudden interest in the looming first task...

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when, at breakfast one day, the multitude of green badges from the Slytherins flashed in the corner of his eye. He didn't dare ask what slogan they had chosen this time, though it seemed enough to rile Fred into giving the Slytherins a rather rude hand gesture, and a passing McGonagall to dock him five house points for his gall.

"Leave them," George said in a low voice, tugging on Fred's sleeve to get him to sit back down; Fred, after shooting a last deadly glare at the Slytherins, complied.

"Bloody gits, the lot of them..."

"They're just sore losers," George said calmly. Really, a bit of ire from the Slytherins was the least of his problems at the moment. He glanced along the table, where Harry, slumped low in his seat, seemed to be having similar issues. George winced sympathetically; this must have been what he had endured alone, last time.

He wanted to offer something supportive, but the screech of the post owls arriving overhead distracted him; he glanced up, as he had become accustomed to, searching their midst for a familiar snowy owl – but Hedwig had not yet returned with Charlie's reply. He breathed out a small sigh, reminding himself he still had over a week to get something together, and was about to return to his toast when Hermione's usual post owl arrived a few seats down, and she let out an audible groan.

"Rita Skeeter's article ... oh, Harry, you're not going to like this..." Unfolding the front page she revealed a large image of Harry's head; below screamed the headline, _Boy-Who-Lived Brave Tournament Contender_.

Harry and Hermione started scanning the article – Harry's brow furrowing until he looked ready to murder something, Hermione biting her lip as she knew very well he would react like this.

"Harry, I'm sorry –"

"I never said any of this!" Harry burst out angrily, stabbing a finger at the page – "Look at this, _'I still cry about my parents at night, I'm not ashamed to admit it...' _Where the hell does she -?"

"What's this, Potter," a familiar drawl drifted over the Gryffindor table, and the triumphant pale sneer of Draco Malfoy stared down at them. He was framed by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, who was giggling and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. Each Slytherin proudly bore on their chest a shiny badge labelled _SUPPORT VIKTOR KRUM_. "I heard you and Mudblood are getting shacked ... Though they must have gotten the wrong girl, they described someone _'stunningly pretty'_..."

The Slytherins guffawed approvingly. "Leave Hermione out of this, Malfoy –!" Harry had gone red in the face and fumbled for his wand when Hermione laid a hand on his arm.

"Leave them -!" she hissed. "It's not worth it, Harry –"

"Listen to your _girlfriend_, Potter."

"She's not my -!"

"Oi," George said, standing up and narrowing his eyes at Malfoy's gang. "If you're so jealous that Potter's a school champion, then you should've gone and put your name in yourself, you bloody coward."

Malfoy's silvery eyes narrowed. "I'm not jealous of Potter – now mind your own business, Weasley."

"If you're not," growled Fred, also standing up, "then take your whiny arse and leave, or we'll do it for you."

Malfoy eyed them a moment, deemed he didn't want to fight all four of them, and with a huff turned on his heel, without a word stalking back to the Slytherin table. As they went, Pansy leaned over, whispering urgently to him.

Fred and George sat back down, Fred with a mutter of, "Lousy gits..." Harry and Hermione glanced over at them in relief.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"No problem," George waved him off, "seems you could use a few more fans around here."

Harry said nothing, but a great deal of tension seemed to lift from his shoulders as he returned to his breakfast. George leaned over to survey the two of them, frowning slightly. He had noticed their younger brother's absence lately – all throughout breakfast Ron had been loudly talking with Seamus and Dean farther down the table, not even glancing up at the confrontation. As bizarre as it was for the trio to be apart, another matter worried him: ever since the full night she had pulled working on the map, Hermione looked different; now she slumped slightly in her seat, dark rings beneath her eyes, and she seemed all the more distracted than usual.

George glanced to Fred, wondering if his twin had noticed, but Fred was staring toward the rafters with a frown; following his gaze, George realized why. There was one lone owl flying down toward the Gryffindor table – if 'flying' was really the word, freefalling really – and in a moment a familiar battered ball of feathers landed in his scrambled eggs.

"Errol," grimaced Fred, reaching over and delicately hefting the exhausted owl off George's plate. Then the twins caught sight of the scarlet letter Errol had deposited on the table; the edges of the envelope smoked warningly.

"Ah, crap," said Fred, nevertheless sounding predominantly unworried.

"Looks like Mum saw the article," George concurred, wincing, and quickly took up the smoking letter in one hand; pinching it at arm's length he set off at a quick walk, then a run for the doors to the Great Hall; Fred was on his heels.

The grand oak doors had barely slammed shut in their wake when the Howler burst into flames and an all-too-familiar ear-splitting shriek echoed down the corridor.

"GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY, WHEN I GET A HOLD OF YOU –"

"She went with the middle name right off the bat," mumbled Fred, wincing, "must've really got her riled this time..."

" – YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, YOUNG MAN! DUMBLEDORE SET THOSE SECURITY MEASURES FOR A VERY GOOD REASON AND OF ALL THE FOOLISH THINGS YOU TWO HAVE DONE, TO ILLEGALLY ENTER A TOURNAMENT WHEN YOU ARE PLAINLY UNDERAGE...! I'LL BE HAVING A WORD WITH THE HEADMASTER, AND YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT PARTICI –"

"I think that's well enough understood, thanks," said George tartly, flicking his wand at the Howler, which promptly exploded. For a moment they stood there, ears still ringing with their mother's reprimand.

"My compliments, Forge, I don't think she's been that angry since she found our spare product listings this summer," Fred remarked, rubbing his ear. "Think I might've gone a little deaf, even."

George shook his head slightly. He half wished that their Mum was right – that he could opt out of participating – but he knew well enough that that was out of the question now. Even if he wasn't magically bound to compete, Fred would have his neck for being a coward.

Neither felt much like returning to the conspiring whispers of the Hall after that incident, and instead spent the time until first block mercilessly incinerating the remains of the Howler until there was nothing left but reddish powder; that was how, when the bell rang and students poured out of the Hall, Alicia and Angelina found them. The girls took one look at the crazed look on the twins' faces and, shaking their heads, hastily changed direction and instead pretended not to know them.

_To be continued..._

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><p>Author's Notes: There, a lighter note for you. :)<p>

(1) Again, I'm not sure if it's canon or not, but I've seen several fanfics where their middle names are those of Molly's brothers, Gideon and Fabian ... Either way, it's an interesting coincidence that they both start with F and G, isn't it? :D (2) I don't hate Ron, really. It's just unfortunately in this part of the book he's already acting like a prat. But he will eventually redeem himself, since my sister - who is a huge Ron fan - won't let me hear the end of it otherwise. :D

Please review!


	6. Dragon Dilemma

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: So ... It's time for year-end finals, again, around here. Thus while I *should* be studying I'm working on my stories, of course! (Why is it I always get my best plot bunnies when I have an exam the next day?)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Dragon Dilemma<strong>

By the end of Friday's classes, Hermione was increasingly frustrated; between Ron's stony silence and Harry's refusal to speak to him until he apologized, the classes stretched endlessly on. She was growing impatient, too, with the curriculum – which she found shamefully simple – and itched to be able to work on something, anything else. Thus she was secretly glad to dwell at the back of her mind on the matter of their time-travelling venture. In fact, she caught herself in History of Magic scrawling notes to herself in the margins of her dates on goblin rebellions; in great shame, she quickly scratched them out and resolved to never let Harry or Ron see her distracted like that.

She had also taken up the quest to drop subtle hints as to the first task – as to which so far Harry was painfully oblivious. She winced, forgetting how her friend was often so – _so thick_...! He might have been the Chosen One, but he had all the insight of a matchbox.

Thus, after classes, Hermione hurried with great relief to the common room, where her heart leaped upon sighting a flare of red hair: she made a beeline for where Fred and George were seated with their friend Lee, their heads together over a game of Exploding Snap.

She had to stop herself, then; she wasn't supposed to be on speaking terms with them yet; she couldn't arouse suspicion ... Instead, agonizingly, she dropped into a nearby armchair and pulled an open book into her lap, her gaze nevertheless focused on the trio nearby, hoping to catch the eye of her friend.

George did not glance up immediately; he was immersed in whatever banter they were exchanging, now laughing at something Fred had said. Hermione's heart did a small flip – she hadn't heard him laugh like that in months, as if ... as if it had never happened. She loved the way the twins laughed; it held something free and wild in the gesture, something she had never been able to attain. Something so precious, she thought, that it deserved to be preserved.

Oh, how a few days had seen George change... To her, it seemed, that alone was reason enough to continue this crazed venture; it wasn't fair, the way things had happened. It just wasn't fair to lose one twin, one half, and leave the other stranded. Inadvertently Hermione allowed her gaze to wander to the one beside him, and she drew a sharp breath.

_Fred._ How her heart swelled to see him again – grinning that wickedly foxy grin of his, laughing and cajoling his brother. Hermione found herself unconsciously smiling to watch them like this, her book forgotten in her lap. Nothing could ever replace the sound of her Fred's laugh.

She told herself that this time around, she wouldn't wait until the last months of fifth year to summon the courage to talk to him. How much time they had lost at Hogwarts, her too shy to do anything but watch from afar on idle evenings like this ... Her heart ached at the very thought of how much of his life she had inadvertently missed. But in the short time they had had together – two years, maybe? Was it really so long? – she had grown to feel that she knew the twins nearly as well as Harry or Ron, her other best friends; in fact, she knew George more than anyone in this timeline could guess, by shared pain. But this Fred ... he was still a stranger to her, and a familiar shyness rose in her mind, warring against her longing to laugh with him again, to run her hands through his thick hair...

Hermione lowered her eyes once more to her book, distantly registering the Arithmancy terminology that long already lingered in her mind. Idly she twisted a lock of hair about her finger, a nervous habit that she hated, but tonight she seemed to care less. Her focus lasted only a few minutes, and soon her tired eyes returned once more to the sixth years, a slight secretive smile tugging at her lips.

It was much later when Lee finally gathered up the singed cards and he and the twins started upstairs. Their course led them right past Hermione's chosen perch – George hesitated a moment, pretending to rifle through his bag.

"Hang on – I left my quill..."

He left the other two to head upstairs, doubling back; he quickly checked that Fred and Lee had safely gone from sight before taking a seat next to Hermione.

"Hey," he greeted with a slight grin. "I tested those wards for you. Unfortunately, it seems – for me, at least – the under-seventeen Trace's still in effect."

Hermione nodded slightly. "At least we know. When did you -?"

"Snuck out to Hogsmeade," he said smugly. "Tried to Apparate – just a few feet, mind – and the warning owl showed up a few minutes later."

"George!" She stared at him in horror. "You haven't gotten your permit yet –"

He shrugged, "So? I'm sure loads of people try it, and splinch themselves in the process, which I did not do, thank you very much."

Hermione shook her head, giving up, now idly scanning the page of her textbook without registering the blurred words. "Well, that's one thing done. I just thought I'd ask how the first task is coming."

George's grin faltered. "Well ... I have a bit of an idea..."

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, "you're as bad as Harry!"

"I thought you were helping him?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"I've been trying – he just hasn't picked up on it yet ..."

He snorted at that. "Hermione, you should know by now that you're far too brilliant for your own good. You have to simplify things when dealing with us oblivious sort, you know?"

Hermione only shook her head, exasperated, but did not deem that worthy of reply. They lapsed into a tired sort of silence; it was Saturday evening, and the common room was considerably more boisterous than its usual. Hermione kept an eye on the portrait hole, knowing that any moment now Harry and Ron should be returning from their detention with Snape. She nearly rolled her eyes at that: how predictable of her friends to have landed themselves in the same fight with Malfoy over nothing, yesterday – at least she'd still gotten away with shrinking her front teeth.

Lost in thought, she hardly noticed George still thoughtfully watching her until he cleared his throat; she jumped slightly and glanced sideways.

"Listen, Hermione, are you ... are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, of course," she said a little too quickly, "why?"

George turned away. "Just ... don't overexert yourself for me," he finished in an almost awkward mumble. "I know I'm the one who dragged you into this."

Hermione blinked, and her cheeks began to warm. "Never mind that now," she said, reaching over and, surprising them both, gently squeezed his hand. "I – I'm just really glad –"

But whatever she had been about to say was cut off with a sharp gasp as she caught sight of two familiar figures wading through the crowd toward them, a good distance apart. Hermione dropped George's hand as though it had burned her.

"Oh, no – I should go – we'll talk later, all right?"

Without leaving him a chance to reply Hermione stood up, grabbed her book and her bag, and without a glance back hastened toward the sanctuary of the girls' dormitories.

* * *

><p>George shrugged off Hermione's odd distraction and offered a grin as Harry approached – Ron frostily turned off for the boys' staircase without looking at either of them.<p>

"Hey, Harry."

Harry nodded, frowning as he scanned the common room. "I could've sworn I saw Hermione here..."

George raised an eyebrow as if he politely thought Harry was a bit off his rocker; the fourth year shrugged, glancing around again, and his face seemed to fall slightly at a group of fifth years talking and laughing carelessly nearby.

"...Fancy a game of Exploding Snap?" George asked, reaching for his bag. Harry glanced back at him, his face easing into a smile – it was rather strained, as if he hadn't done so in days.

"Yeah, I think I would."

* * *

><p>It was a week later when the owl post at breakfast brought a welcome snowy figure to his plate; upon sighting Hedwig, George abandoned a heated debate with Lee over who was the better Seeker, Potter or Krum, and fed the complacent owl a bit of toast as he untied the letter from her leg.<p>

"What's that?" asked Fred, leaning over to see. "Secret admirer?"

George rolled his eyes. "Probably, knowing how awesome we are and how naturally jealous our brothers must be, not having the handsome short Weasley genes, themselves."

Fred nevertheless leaned over his shoulder to read as George unfurled the letter to reveal an all too recognizable messy handwriting.

_Fred and George –_

_Nice try. I know dragons were banned from the Care of Magical Creatures curriculum the year after I went through._

_Mum sent me the Prophet last week, but she needn't have bothered – you're in the paper here, too, you and Potter (don't get such a big head – the article's all about his life story, but you're in the picture.) If Mum hasn't murdered the both of you by now, my sincere regards._

_Don't you dare tell anyone about this, but I'm in the country right now. If it's at all possible, come and meet me by the Forbidden Forest at midnight on the twenty-first ... and if you know what's good for you you'll keep quiet about what your amazing brother is doing._

_Charlie_

"The twenty-first, that's tonight," Fred breathed, shooting a quick glance along the table to ensure no one was listening in. "But what does he mean, he's here...? What the hell did you tell him?"

George shook his head; his heart was in his throat and he was suddenly wondering if it had been a good idea to so openly confront his brother earlier. He was so dead if Charlie knew...

"We'll just have to find out," he said, pleased his voice remained steady. "At midnight."

Fred nodded and George had just stuffed the letter out of sight in his bag when Angelina and Alicia approached.

"Hey," said Angelina brightly, "Hogsmeade this morning, you coming?"

"You kidding?" said Fred. "I need to stock up on my fireworks."

"Let's go, then, before the crowds start," said Alicia. "Come on, George."

He hesitated as Fred stood up. "I think I'll sit this one out," he mumbled, "I still have to get some practice in ... for the first task, you know..."

"Come again? I could've sworn I heard Hermione Granger speaking," said Fred, making to haul him to his feet; George shook him off.

"I'm serious, Fred, the task's in three days and I haven't even looked at any defensive spells..."

"Fine," Fred huffed, "but don't expect us to get you anything."

George rolled his eyes but nevertheless watched his brother, Lee, and the girls fade into the crowd; more slowly he joined the throng for the entrance of the Great Hall when he heard a breathless voice call his name.

"George!"

He turned; Hermione was hurrying toward him. "I just remembered something," she gasped, her eyes shining; George raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"_Sirius_!"

"Come again?"

"Sirius!" she repeated impatiently, casting a glance over her shoulder to ensure Harry was still occupied with his breakfast. "Remember, he fell through the Veil too!"

George stared at her, amazement slowly flooding his features. "That means ... he might remember everything, too..."

Hermione nodded. "I can't believe it slipped my mind! We might have..."

"We might have an ally," George finished for her, now grinning. "Brilliant, Hermione. When can we meet him?" For he remembered the first he had seen of the Marauder last time would be next summer at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and his face fell slightly.

"Tonight," Hermione went on excitedly. "Harry's talking to him in the common room fire."

"Tonight? But I can't –"

"Hermione? Should we go now?" Harry had approached their huddle, clutching a bag slightly more stuffed than usual and glancing about warily at the remaining stragglers eating breakfast. Hermione quickly changed gears.

"Oh – yes, of course." She cast a last glance at George, mouthing,_ I'll take care of it_. Then they, too, disappeared into the crowd.

His spirits slightly higher at the thought of the help Sirius Black could give them, George headed off to the Room of Requirement for a crash-course through every spell he could remember Harry ever teaching the DA.

* * *

><p>The grounds were black; only a sliver of moon glinted overhead as two figures crossed the long lawns toward the dark expanse of forest. They didn't dare light their wands to guide the way, instead squinting in the dark to reach the border of the forest.<p>

"This way," said George, turning off and following the forest to his right. He wasn't sure where exactly they were headed; somewhere around here, he knew, they had to be ... it wasn't that easy to disguise a bloody herd of dragons, after all...

Then they rounded the corner, the silhouetted castle falling away out of sight behind them, and George heard the first echoing bellow; over the line of tall trees, a column of fire burst into the sky.

"Bloody hell -!" Fred swore loudly, his voice nearly lost in the roar of sound. George grabbed his brother's sleeve and pulled him between the trees; crouched there in the bushes, hardly daring to breathe, they looked out on the scene.

Knowing it was coming wasn't enough; to see the beasts himself made his stomach flip and sink into the ground beneath him. Between the trees a length of clearing had been mowed out, and now four great dragons stood in the space, chains about their limbs and necks; wizards darted about between the thrashing beasts, shouting orders and tugging on their manacles. The occasional blast of light of a stunning spell flashed in the night as brightly as a firecracker.

"No bloody wonder Charlie said he was coming," Fred said beside him; in the firelight his face had gone pale. "Four of them ... that's got to be the first task, George..."

George nodded wordlessly.

"Then where d'you reckon...?" Fred glanced around – but in the dark neither could differentiate Charlie's flare of hair from the crowd. Nearby a large black dragon was snarling and snapping and flaring its wings against the wizards struggling to contain it.

"Should we go closer?" suggested Fred a bit uncertainly. "It's almost midnight, you know..."

George didn't particularly yearn to get any closer to the ferocious beasts, but nevertheless managed a nod. Slowly he stood up and ventured out into the open, heart pounding, afraid that at any moment the wizards would rush out and stop him. He wasn't supposed to be here ... if they got caught, _Merlin..._

"Fred? George? Is that you?"

They whirled; standing there was none other than their older brother Charlie, his wand held aloft; he had been calling orders to the dragon-tamers when he caught sight of the two figures slinking out of the shadows; without giving them a chance to react he grabbed each twin by the elbow and pulled them into the brush.

"Ow! Charlie, what –"

"Hush!" Charlie hissed to Fred. "I'm not supposed to let you know what the first task is – if they find you here, I could just as well lose my job!"

"So that _is _the first task," Fred said grumpily, twisting free of his grip and wincing as he rubbed his arm. "George has to fight a dragon, then?"

"They haven't told us exactly, but I think you have to get past them somehow," Charlie concurred, keeping his voice low and very quick. "I wouldn't have told you this but, well, after I got your letter..." He glanced between them. "I have no intention of knowing how exactly you managed to get a hold of that particular bit of classified Ministry information, so spare me the details."

Fred glanced at George and raised an eyebrow. _You knew? _his look seemed to convey. George only shrugged.

"All right, so it's dragons," George said quietly. "That's all well and dandy but I still have no idea how I'm gonna get past it without dying a terrible death."

"The things I do for you," Charlie sighed, shaking his head. "Now, listen carefully, because you have a very excellent big brother who would prefer not to see you fried to a crisp on Tuesday. There's a couple ways of pacifying a dragon, enough to get by and do whatever it is you have to. Their weak spot is their eyes; don't bother hitting anywhere else, their scales'll resist most spells. A powerful enough Stunner to the face ought to do it, or if you could render it blind for a minute by –"

But Charlie suddenly stopped short with a hiss to silence them; he whirled onto the forest, wand raised; the twins could hear the tramp of footsteps drawing nearer – of multiple someones, by the sound of it. George's heart was pounding.

"I've said enough," Charlie said. "Fred, George – _good luck_. Don't stick around here, now." His hand for a moment found George's shoulder and squeezed; then he was off rustling through the bushes in pursuit of the nearing interlopers. Fred glanced at George and both plunged into the security of the forest's darkness, neither daring to speak. Behind them they heard Charlie loudly say, "Keep back there, Hagrid! They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! –"

Soon they were deeply ensconced in the trees, stumbling over crackling branches, breathing harshly in the silence; the clearing and its roaring occupants had long fallen into the distance behind them. George's throat was dry; he didn't quite meet Fred's eye, but suspected he too was in shock.

They did not speak to one another until they had raced across the grounds, made their way into the castle, and wormed along a secret passage to near the Gryffindor portrait hole; only once they were safely inside the deserted common room, dark except for embers flickering low in the hearth, did the twins dare to look at one another.

"George..." Weak light danced across Fred's face, highlighting the sudden tenseness of his jaw. "I ... Dragons, huh?"

George nodded and forced himself to smile. "Yeah. Dragons."

"Oh, God..." Fred sank down into the nearest armchair, rubbing his fingers along his temples. "You _have_ been working on those defensive spells, right?"

"Right, yeah."

Their bleak gazes met; neither knew what to say. George suddenly felt they were reliving the night before the battle: they sat there without knowing what would happen or if, this time tomorrow, they would still be here... George shut his eyes tightly, forcing that memory back alongside so many others.

"...George?"

He opened his eyes; the next moment took him by surprise as Fred suddenly stood and closed the distance between them. His arms were shaking as he held his twin to him, and George, frozen, could do nothing to stop him as Fred held him to his chest.

"Fred, you're acting like a girl, now," George said crossly, but made no motion to stop him.

"...Shut up," Fred said. "George, if you ... if you ... Promise me you won't take any risks, all right, or I swear I will bloody murder you," he said very quickly.

"I solemnly swear it, Fred," George said grimly, "that I will not allow myself to be maimed, or worse, killed by a dragon, for I as a Weasley twin am much too awesome for that."

"You'd better," Fred said gruffly, releasing him. "I couldn't live with myself if my git of a brother couldn't even survive a simple task like this..."

"Yeah ..." said George distantly. As his brother turned away and started up the long staircase ahead of him, George's eyes lingered on his back.

_It turns out I couldn't, either._

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Short Weasley references are of course a tribute to Starhorse's <strong>Fox Ears<strong>, which is a seriously brilliant re-Fredding story, and inspired me to write this! :)

The first task is coming soon, I promise!


	7. Operation: BoyWhoStillLives

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Yay, it's an update! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Operation: Boy-Who-Still-Lives<strong>

Hermione awoke very suddenly, drawing a sharp gasp of breath; she rolled over, fighting the tangles in her blankets struggling to pull her back down; eventually she won out and sat there, panting, with her trembling knees coiled to her chest.

She had had _that_ nightmare again.

She closed her eyes, tiredly scrubbing at her temples. It would do her no good to let the dreams get to her now, days before the first task... With a soft sigh she strived to force such thoughts from her mind and, at last dropping her feet to the cold floor and standing up, set about readying herself. She grimaced at her listless expression in the mirror; she was noticeably paler than usual, dark circles prominent beneath her eyes. As she duelled with her tangled hair, she was aware of her roommates, Parvati and Lavender, watching her from the corner of their eye; when she looked over, however, the other girls were busying themselves with their make-up.

"Is it just me," whispered Lavender to her friend, one guarded eye on the bushy-haired witch's distraction, "or has Hermione been a bit – different lately?"

"She's certainly been quieter in classes," remarked Parvati, leaning close to the mirror as she carefully dabbed black liner along her lower eyelids. "I hate to say it but, thank _God_."

"I heard from some of the fifth years that she was in the bathroom during lunch a few days back, throwing up," Lavender went on, her voice hushed so that Hermione, busily checking that she had all her homework in her bag, wouldn't overhear. "And she hardly eats anything anymore ... I think she might be anorexic!" Her eyes went wide at the notion.

"Hermione Granger? No way," said Parvati. "She's always so confident. She wouldn't do something like that ... but..." She trailed off as Hermione headed out of the dormitory with a toss of her bushy hair. Both girls were thinking the same thing, glancing dubiously at one another.

Something _had_ definitely changed about Hermione Granger...

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Hermione arrived in the Great Hall already humming with chatter; she huffed a sigh at Ron, who had allied himself with Seamus and Dean again at the far end of the table, and instead plopped down between Harry and George. Harry mumbled a faint greeting before going back to prodding unenthusiastically at his bacon; he looked rather green in the face and there were dark rings beneath his eyes.<p>

Hermione judiciously picked out a bit of fruit, not particularly hungry; her eyes wandered along the head table and she for an instant met Professor Dumbledore's sapphire stare. For some reason it sent a shiver down her spine and she returned her attention to the apple in her hand, though her mouth had gone dry.

Since the chatter around them seemed sufficient cover, Harry proved otherwise distracted, and Fred was discussing something with Lee, George took the opportunity to prod her. "Anything new about our friend?"

Hermione shook her head and sighed, reminiscing a conversation at the fireside last night with Sirius Black. She had done her best to listen in, herself hidden with a quick disillusionment charm, but Sirius had not revealed anything that suggested he, too, had come from a future jump through the Veil. It hadn't helped that Ron interrupted before the conversation managed to go anywhere of value.

"I don't know..."

George nodded. "Leave it, then – we'll see again later." He evidently noted she was exhausted, Hermione realized, and bitterly wished she was a bit better with appearance charms. He had enough to worry about right now without her condition, too...

"There's something else," she whispered then, changing the subject. "Well ... do you know what Occlumency and Legitimency are?"

"Vaguely," George whispered back. "I'll check the Map later."

Hermione nodded, "In short, Legitimens can see into others' thoughts – Voldemort is one, obviously, as are Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore."

George seemed unsurprised. "Well, that certainly explains a lot. Dumbledore always knew what we were up to, somehow."

"In any case," Hermione pressed on, "the last thing we want is for anyone to pick up on what we're doing and what we know."

George nodded, sombre again. "So, how...?"

"Occlumency. We have to learn to shield our thoughts. During those last months, Harry was teaching Ron and me ... he probably would have taught the entire DA if he had time ... it would've been useful."

"So Harry knows it too, then?"

"Yes – or he will, next year."

"Then that means it would be safe to tell him," George noted. "After all, the kid needs us."

"I –" Hermione began to protest, then sighed, "Well, we'll get to that bridge when we come to it. For now at least we'll work on mastering it ourselves. Perhaps ... perhaps as soon as the first task is over."

"Yeah, sounds good," George nodded. "Speaking of which..." He glanced down the table at Harry.

"It's not going so well," Hermione said, discouraged. "I've been telling him to keep practicing what he knows – Summoning in particular – but it's like he just has this block in regards to it... George, I'm worried. Last time he had Prof – Crouch Junior to help him, but ... but I want him to figure it out on his own this time around. I _know_ he can do it. He needs to."

"I think you worry too much, Hermione," George said with faint amusement. "Just give Potter a chance. He just needs the proper motivation." At that moment Fred stood up; with a last nod at her, George followed his brother out of the Hall. Hermione watched them depart with a sigh, still holding her untouched apple; then she turned and balefully her eyes returned to the head table.

Professor Dumbledore was still watching her; or perhaps his attention was on Harry, morose beside her. Either way Hermione focused, bringing her honed Occlumency shields to their maximum, staring at the apple. She was once again reminded of the necessity to keep their involvement an utter secret; their foreknowledge wasn't safe, even in their own minds, not until she and George had mastered Occlumency, and the sooner the better. It didn't matter if Professor Snape truly was on their side; she still distrusted him for his abhorrent treatment of Harry. And as for Professor Dumbledore...

Hermione hated to think wrong of the allegedly greatest wizard of the century, but, well ... after ceaseless poring over the last timeline she couldn't help but wonder if he could have managed events – in particular Harry's preparation to fight Voldemort – a little better. Keeping him sheltered for so long only prolonged the inevitable; but his vehemence to keep Harry safe conflicted with their own goals, and she was more than a little fearful of what Dumbledore might do to stop them from messing with what worked out, in his mind, as a generally positive end to Voldemort.

She shuddered a little and straightened in her seat, knowing that at fifteen she wouldn't have had the courage to stand against the will of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore himself. But if Fred and George had taught her anything, it was that anything was possible, if she had enough nerve. And this time, she was determined to have things her way.

* * *

><p>"Talon-clipping ... treating scale rot ..." Harry tossed aside another thick book in disgust. "This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep a dragon..." He eyed the tomes piled across the coffee table and turned to Hermione, who was browsing <em>You and Your Dragon<em> on the couch beside him.

"Hermione," he said bleakly, "I don't get it. Sirius said there was a simple spell to use!"

Hermione only shook her head, biting her lip. She hated not helping him like this ... but he needed to learn to adapt on his own or else others would continue to manipulate him during the war, like they had last time. All she was doing now, she told herself again, was pushing him toward the leadership role he would sooner or later find himself thrust into, willingly or not.

"Harry," she said carefully, "maybe we're thinking too narrowly here."

"Right, then, let's review the facts," Harry remarked tartly, counting off on his fingers: "Tuesday afternoon I face a great ruddy dragon and the entire school population watches as the Boy-Who-Lived burns to a crisp. The End."

"_Harry!_"

"We've looked _everywhere_, Hermione! If it was this easy, then why isn't it – what does everyone else know that I'm missing here?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a slow breath. "Harry," she resumed gently, "_please_. Dumbledore and the other heads will be there – you're not going to die. They wouldn't let that happen." She tried to force back the mental image of Cedric's still body after the third task. "Now, listen. No one said you have to fight the dragon – I mean, really, they're an endangered species, and it wouldn't be legal to force you to kill them –"

"Hermione, you're worrying about the _dragon_? _I'm_ an endangered species!" Harry said viciously, stabbing a finger at his chest. "Rita Skeeter'll have a field day – _Boy-Who-Lived-No-Longer Slain By His Own Stupidity_."

"Not only would it be ridiculous to have you fight a dragon ... oh, think about it, it's so simple! At least, from a Muggle standpoint, I suppose it's the same with wizards ... Harry, you heard fairytales growing up, didn't you? Where were the dragons in them?"

Harry scratched his head. "Well, they were usually evil, killed a bunch of folk, and kidnapped the princess."

"And then...?"

"And then the hero comes and stabs it? – which won't work since I'm only allowed my wand," he cut her off, irritated.

"And usually the dragon had a lair, and in the lair..." Hermione pressed.

"...There was treasure?" Harry shrugged.

"Exactly! Oh, Harry, I think – I think you might have to take something from the dragon!" Hermione's heart leaped to see Harry suddenly sit up straighter, his eyes wandering to the window in thought.

"You know what, maybe ... Charlie did mention something about them wanting female dragons with eggs," Harry said slowly, and it clicked: "D'you think they'd put it with the eggs then?"

"That's brilliant, Harry," Hermione breathed. "Yes ... then the dragon would be protective of it ... Oh, I do think we're getting somewhere at last!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "All I need is a Summoning Charm – Hermione, I need your help."

Hermione beamed at him as he leaped up, wand in hand, and began searching the room for something to summon. _Oh, how you do, Harry, how you do..._

* * *

><p>It was growing dark by the time Harry and Hermione sank down in the plush common room chairs, absolutely exhausted. Harry had spent the Sunday afternoon summoning absolutely everything and anything to fly at him across the room, even at one point engaging the all too eager Creevey brothers who would run about collecting the fallen books, quills, and even Trevor the toad before hoisting them up in the air and shouting, "Try this one next, Harry!"<p>

Hermione sighed; Harry had at last somewhat of a grasp on the spell, though his focus seemed to waver once the object – whatever it was – reached about halfway across the room, and there it would falter and clatter to the floor. She tried to keep her commentary as positive as possible, encouraging him to keep trying until both of them could hardly raise their wands.

The portrait hole swung open and the Weasley twins picked their precarious way across the ransacked common room; neither looked the least bit phased by the mess, which in a clearer state of mind Hermione would have taken as a worrisome sign.

"Hey, Potter," said Fred cheerfully, dropping onto the couch next to him. "Productive day?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." Harry mustered a half grin.

"Ah, us, too," said Fred, nodding to his twin, "George had this excellent idea for a new product, for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, of course, candies with a bit of animal transformation potion added. Want to sign up for prototype testing, Granger?"

"I'll pass, thanks," she said dryly, eyeing the two. "Shouldn't you be worrying about the first task?"

"Nah, George's got it in the bag," said Fred quickly, grinning.

George at least pretended to look humble. "Can't spare any details, though, don't want anyone getting any ideas." He winked at Harry.

"Though, for a small fee, we may be willing to share a wee bit of our brilliance," Fred added cheerily.

"That's against the rules," Hermione said crossly, "and you know it. And besides, Harry's got things under control – right, Harry?"

"Er – right," said Harry, with less conviction than Fred.

"Bit worried?" George said kindly. "Don't worry, Potter, it's nothing worse than a Quidditch match – which you've proven yourself capable of handling excellently, might I add – in fact, it's quite unfair how this'll just be a walk in the park for the famous Harry Potter. I must try hard to match your brilliance."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him; he was pushing things a bit far. But Harry seemed nonplussed.

"Very funny, guys. If you'll excuse me, I have some more practicing to get done ... Hermione, you coming?"

"Actually, Potter, we were wondering if we could borrow you real quick," said Fred.

"You see, with the task coming up and all, we thought it would be kind of us –"

"– to let you blow off a little steam, you know? –"

"– what say you to a bit of Quidditch?" George finished conversationally.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "All right, what are you two plotting here?"

"He dares suspect angelic faces like ours?" Fred asked his twin, aghast; George meanwhile grinned.

"We plot nothing against you, being our dear and valuable Seeker."

Harry considered a moment, eyeing the wand in his hand; he still didn't have the charm down exactly right, but the idea of flying was tempting, considering how much he had on his mind as of late. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who shook her head in exasperation.

"I see I'm fighting a losing battle here."

Harry pocketed his wand and rose with a sigh. "Just let me get my Firebolt."

Fred and George split into identical grins. "Brilliant!"

As the trio turned off for the dormitory stairs George hung back long enough to whisper, "I've got this, Granger." Hermione smiled after them.

_Boys, they never change..._

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><p>Both Hogwarts champions felt immeasurably more confident in Tuesday's upcoming task when they kicked off from the snowy field and felt the wind rush by as they climbed up, up, up. George closed his eyes and faced into the breeze, breathing deeply; his thoughts were in such a welcome state of release that he presently couldn't be bothered by anything, not the upcoming task, not the fact that in less than a year Voldemort would be loose in the open again and soon would start a landslide of events leading to the eventual final battle...<p>

George cut off that train of thought and left it with the worries drifting in a very far chained-off corner of his mind; instead a small smile rose on his face as he turned back to face the other two; Fred, being Fred, immediately wheeled his broom about with the declaration, "Race you!"

And, laughing, he flung himself flat over the broom handle, shooting off as fast as a firework for the opposite end of the pitch. Harry and George would not be caught behind; as soon as he had issued the challenge they, too, turned about and charged after him.

They soon drew even with Fred – and then Harry, on his Firebolt, passed them both, quickly becoming a murky blot on the darkening horizon. When they reached the golden hoops they slid to a stop, all panting and grinning madly. This was the thrill that only flying could bring – and _God_, how he missed it.

"Quidditch next year we're gonna kick Slytherin's arse," Fred declared solemnly, to which Harry concurred with a high-five; George, grinning, acknowledged the same.

"How could we not? We're obviously the best team Hogwarts's ever seen." _So long as we don't get the three of us a lifetime ban after our first match_, he added silently, glancing between the other two. If there was one thing (okay, other than Fred's alive-ness) that he was going to preserve for sure ...

... But unfortunately, plots for torturing the giant toad would have to wait until George assured his survival until that time came. And with the dragon barring his path, well, that was looking a little precarious at the moment.

To distract himself he dug in his pockets and, smiling, withdrew a small golden ball. "Hey, Harry, want in on a bet?"

Harry's eyes had widened at the sight of the Golden Snitch, which now spread tiny gossamer wings to either side of the sphere and flitted weakly against George's grip.

"How did you -?"

"Trust me, Harry, we have our ways," said Fred mysteriously.

"Ah." Harry decided he didn't want to know, and went back to staring suspiciously at the Snitch, as though it might explode at any second. "Go on."

"We're willing to bet you can't catch this bugger in under a minute. Got to keep our star Seeker on his toes, y'know."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What are we betting?"

"Five sickles," George said automatically, still grinning.

Harry hesitated a moment, looking between their Cheshire cat grins, and then sighed. "All right, since you two are bloody rich thanks to Bagman, I'll bite."

"The humility on this one." George pretended to shake his head ruefully, noting that Fred's expression had darkened at the mention of Bagman. _Oh, that's right _... He kept forgetting they were currently broke. Ah, well, Harry could wait on his money.

"All right, Potter, close your eyes and count to ten." Harry did so, turning away; in the meantime George swung around and lobbed the Snitch as hard as he could at the opposite goalpost; he saw for a moment it spiral downward in the air, then it was gone in a flicker of its wings in the dusky light.

"And ... ten. Go." George had hardly finished speaking when Harry blazed past him, his eyes already scouring the pitch. George grinned at Fred beside him.

"You timing this?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Fred was staring very keenly at his watch.

The seconds ticked by: George watched Harry fly back and forth, his brow furrowed in concentration. It really was breathtaking just to watch him fly – Potter had some natural talent on a broom, he had to admit, maybe even more so than Charlie; he made each tight turn something graceful, like a fencer going through the motions.

And then, suddenly, it was over; Harry lunged and raised his clenched fist, tiny wings barely visible struggling against his knuckles.

"You owe me five sickles," he said breathlessly when he flew up to the twins.

"Nice flying, Potter," noted Fred with a grin, catching the Snitch as Harry lobbed it at him. "We'll have to owe you on the sickles, though."

Harry cast them a rather exasperated glare, which didn't threaten them very much; George turned back to Harry in thought.

"You know, Potter, I don't think even Krum can fly as fast as you did back there. It's amazing, really." Okay, now he was laying it on thick, but eventually _something_ had to get through to him. Hermione had done her part; now it was his turn.

"Yeah," chipped in Fred, "bet you could even out-fly a dragon on a good day."

George covered his shocked about-face with a cough; how the hell did Fred just figure out their plan? But his brother was still grinning widely as he went on, "and you'd be way faster than winged horses or phoenixes or even owls ... Hey, I bet you could start up a business that way: Harry-post. I like it. Definitely use it for all my important mail."

Yes ... Fred really was _that_ oblivious. George blinked slowly and wheeled his broom about, suggesting they head down now before the rest of the Gryffindors demolished what was left of the feast, by now.

It wasn't until they were halfway through dessert that George heard Harry asking Hermione how far Summoning charms could be in effect. George glanced up very quickly, nearly choking on his treacle tart, and met Hermione's eye; she was fighting off a smile with difficulty.

"Well, I suppose if it's strong enough, it could be as far as needed ... why do you ask?"

"Oh – nothing, really," said Harry, returning to his dessert with considerably more zeal. "Just an idea, is all."

Hermione was outright beaming now; George winked at her, and both deemed _Operation: Help Harry Stay_ _Alive_ a success.

_To be continued..._

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><p>Author's Note: Next chapter ... the first task, maybe? *whistles innocently*<p> 


	8. Tempting Fate

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, although I may have "borrowed" Fred without returning him ... and maybe locked him in my closet...

Author's Note: Here's your random remark of the day: see those little 'share' buttons on the right? I really, really hate them and how they make my titles off-center. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Tempting Fate<strong>

On Tuesday morning, the brilliant blaze of confidence accompanying his success in aiding Harry had died out quite a bit; in fact, George was feeling a little ill. With Fred offering such supportive comments as, "At least I'll still be the handsome twin," the duo headed down to breakfast.

George only picked at his food as practically everyone he had ever even spoken to in the past - and some people he hadn't - came to wish him luck in the task ahead. George kept glancing along the table for Harry and Hermione, but neither was present; if Harry was in a worse state of nerves than he, George could only guess. Instead he settled for silently running over Plan A and Plan B in his mind as Fred insisted on piling more and more onto his plate.

"Hey," he said crossly, prodding George painfully in the side and jarring him from his thoughts. "If you're not eating 'cause the dragon won't try eating a stick, that's a stupid plan."

"Thanks," George growled. "And here I was hoping to tempt it with you."

"Whatever are you implying?" Fred said airily, feigning innocence. George snorted and pushed his plate away, standing up.

"C'mon ... let's go back upstairs. I'm sick of people telling me they'll still love me if I'm horribly disfigured."

The common room proved to be not much better: Gryffindors were chattering excitably in clumps, and though Fred and Lee went off to tempt the crowd with some of their newest inventions, George was content to sit in the corner by the fire and watch as an increasingly nervous Harry made Colin and Dennis Creevey fly through the air toward him as if he were some kind of overlarge magnet.

After a little while, however, Fred returned to sit beside him, plopping down a case rattling with galleons and grinning slightly; the look faded when he caught sight of George's unusual pallor.

"Hey, you'll do fine," he bolstered. "C'mon, George, we've done stuff way riskier than this before and come off it in one piece."

"Enlighten me," he said dryly.

"Dangling Filch's cat off the Astronomy Tower," Fred said with a perfectly straight face. "Sneaking into Snape's office at least seven times, now, that last time nearly getting caught 'cause you dropped the Murklap Essence. Facing Mum's wrath after she found our joke shop plans ... need I go on?"

George made a small noise in his throat; he was picturing a far different chain of events. A reckless venture involving Polyjuice Potion administered sevenfold to free Harry from the Dursleys ... a chaotic battle in Hogwarts's stone corridors...

"I ... I can't do this, Fred..." he mumbled at last, dropping his head in his hands. "_Merlin_, what were we thinking ... I can't..."

"George, what about the prize money? What about the fame? What about ... oh, _bugger_ _that_, George, look at me." George raised his head bleakly when Fred started shaking his shoulder. "Listen. We put our names in that Goblet because we wanted to and not just 'cause we could win a bunch of gold. Because it meant living, really _living_, the excitement, the danger, all of it."

George blinked slowly. "Fred, you're actually making sense ... what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, I am brilliant," said Fred, grinning unabashedly. "C'mon, now - if you don't do the both of us proud today, I will be ashamed to be related to you. Or if you haven't the guts, I'll do it," he declared in sudden decisiveness. "They can't tell me I'm not George."

But George had regained his determination; meeting Fred's eye, he at last shook his head. "No, this one's my responsibility. The next task ... hell, knock yourself out with it. But this one's mine," he repeated firmly, knowing only one thing: he was going to _live_, and Fred was, too.

Then George nodded to the box of gold on the table. "That there enough to pay Potter off?"

* * *

><p>During lunch, Professor McGonagall came to gather the champions from the Hall. All eyes were on Harry and George as they rose, bidding goodbye to Hermione, Fred, and Lee. The three echoed a "good luck" after them; Hermione, biting her lip, looked as if she wanted to hug them both around the neck and never let go; Fred shot George an unusually solemn look, which he returned with a wink.<p>

Then they were crossing the stone Entrance Hall and crunching across the snow-encrusted grounds; Professor McGonagall led them around the Forbidden Forest to the place where, a night not so long ago, George had first glimpsed the dragons. A tent was now tall in the clearing's place, hiding what both Hogwarts champions knew awaited them in the ring on the other side.

George and Harry - without glancing at one another - entered the tent. There they found the other two champions, who didn't look half as imposing today. Fleur was seated in the corner, pale and almost sickly looking; Krum, on the other hand, had his thick brow furrowed and looked even surlier than usual. From their midst Ludo Bagman bounced to his feet.

"Ah, good, we're all here!" He gestured the Hogwarts champions inside and glanced around at them all excitedly with his brow shining and bouncing on the balls of his feet, irritatingly reminding George of a small child eagerly awaiting Christmas morning. "Now, then, time to fill you all in - once the audience has settled, I'll be passing around this bag," he jingled a small purple pouch at his waist, "and you'll each pick out a model of the thing you'll be facing! There are - er - different varieties, you see. And there is one more thing I have to tell you - your task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

George nodded slightly, resigned; his face had tensed so he looked almost pained, waiting out the minutes as they heard the thunder of footsteps tromping past their tent, voices echoing with laughter and excited chatter. George thought he might be sick.

All too soon, Bagman had opened the silk sack and offered it out to Fleur; wordlessly she reached inside, withdrawing a miniscule model of a Welsh Green; the number two hung around its neck. Next went Viktor Krum: he drew the Chinese Fireball. Almost like a Muggle TV set George saw flashes of what they were about to do in his mind; yet, last time, he had watched from the safety of the crowd...

Bagman held out the purple pouch to him; George swallowed hard, shut his eyes, and delved his hand inside: something prickled his fingers and he opened his fist to stare down at the shifting model of the Swedish Short-Snout, accompanied by the number one.

Harry went last with a terrible blanched look on his face, and George suspected he knew before it started snapping at his fingers that he would face the Horntail.

_You can do it, Harry, I've seen you,_ he reflected, offering what he hoped was a confident smile to his fellow Gryffindor. _Now, me, on the other hand..._

"Now then!" Bagman declared merrily, clapping his hands. "You each have your dragons, and the numbers represent the order you'll be facing them, do you see? Excellent - I'll be leaving in a moment, I'm commentating, you see - but Mr Weasley, if you'll kindly step into the enclosure at the whistle - now, Harry, a word if I may..."

Bagman dragged Harry outside for a moment, leaving the three remaining champions standing around without looking at one another, unable to think of anything past the rumbling roar of the crowd outside and the thought of the beasts waiting for them. George's throat was dry; he clenched his fists.

Then he heard the sharp bleat of a whistle outside.

He closed his eyes and drew a breath. _Right, I can bloody well do this ... Fred won't let me live it down if I can't at least do this for him..._

George drew his wand and, clutching it in his clammy fist, stepped from the tent; he walked through a gap in the trees and found himself suddenly on the edge of the arena, awash in the screaming cheers of the crowd rising around him on bleachers, and there at the other end of the arena was the Swedish Short-Snout.

The dragon's scales gleamed blue in the sunlight; she crouched low over a nest of eggs, growling low in her throat, her great golden eyes gleaming; long horns snaked out from her forehead, and the long tail thrashing behind her was similarly armed.

"Hey, there," George said conversationally. "Just looking for a golden egg, now - no trouble, really..."

The dragon snorted; he walked forward, testing the rocky terrain. As he moved closer to her nest the dragon tensed up and her nostrils flared.

A split second of warning and George flung himself behind a boulder, a rush of blue-white flames passing over his head. He swore aloud as he watched the flames gouge into a rock behind him and diminish it to ash before his eyes.

"Right then ... remember the plan," he breathed, raising his wand; before he could lose his courage he swung around the edge of the rock, firing off a spell he and Fred had come to know and love well in later joke shop ventures.

There was a loud blast and sparks flew off in every direction, the explosion like a firecracker; the dragon reeled back and snarled, more startled than harmed as sparks glanced off her flank, and flared her nostrils again; George dove back behind cover as he felt the rock at his back warm with heat.

_Damn it_ - he'd only grazed her scaly hide, and Charlie's words came back to him. It would be useless to try spells on her hardened armour ... he'd have to get in closer for a better shot...

Grimacing, George peered about the edge of his shelter and noted the dragon coiled, lying in wait, ready to flame again at a sign of her tormentor. He had to move quickly.

Dropping low to the ground, he took a breath, and charged for the cover of a rock three meters ahead and to the right; from the corner of his eye he saw the dragon's head swing sideways and her bellow of anger shook the ground beneath his feet. Heat blazed at his back as he dived behind the rock, gasping for breath.

_Oh, God ... now for another one..._ He grit his teeth and sent off another explosion - this one aimed at a rock far to the left, which promptly shattered into shards flying in every which way - without glancing back to see if she had fallen for the distraction he sprinted for cover.

He fell to his knees behind this last rocky sentry, breathing hard, heart pounding a mile a minute; George flattened his back to the stone as he inched nearer to the edge, finally daring to peer out: he was so close now he could have reached out and touched the dragon's heaving blue flank if he so chose.

_All right - _now_!_

He abandoned his cover, stepping plainly into the dragon's view; but as she reared up on her hind legs in preparation for attack, he too raised his wand and took aim.

"_Stupefy_!"

A brilliant red flash and a horrible shrieking filled the air; he'd struck the dragon straight in the eye and, blind, she swung her head viciously from side to side, like a tree caught in a wild tornado, bellowing that terrible keening sound.

George stumbled slightly as the dragon's anxiously stamping feet shook the ground; but just ahead of him he could see the curve of the eggs now in the open, and in their midst the gleam of something golden ... He stepped forward, his heart in his throat.

The Swedish Short-Snout screamed; from the corner of his eye he caught the flicker of blue and her head arced downward; she was falling, mouth wide in a howl of defeat, the long horns gleaming in the sunlight.

On pure instinct he flung himself sideways, low to the ground; he was watching the shadow of the dragon's bulk fall, for an instant wildly thinking she would crush the eggs; but she would topple just far enough to the side, still thrashing weakly with her neck and tail -

_Pain._

That was all he knew in the next instant as George found himself flung flat to the ground, vision swaying; everything was red. To twist his head made the entire side of his face throb; he couldn't see, he could hardly breathe from the shock...

And then he came to realize, with a sudden flip of his heart, that he was drenched in blood; he could feel it dripping along the left side of his face, raw and coppery in his mouth; he drew a terrified, shaking breath and barely stopped himself from clawing at the source of the wound. Somewhere the crowd was screaming, the sound white noise at the back of his mind.

Gold glimmered ahead of him. _The egg_. He had to get the egg.

With strength he didn't know he had, George was crawling, ignorant to the dragon thrashing on the ground next to him, or the fact that he had no bloody idea where his wand was, his left hand was stained in red, and he could still feel blood along his face, sliding along his temple until he was half-blind, blinking dazedly with wavering consciousness.

_Can't die ... get the egg ... for Fred ..._

His hands closed on something cold. He blinked. It was gold; he dragged himself toward it and clutched it to his chest, unable to move, hardly aware of the crowd still screaming, of the dragon-tamers rushing out onto the field to subdue the beast.

The next thing he knew, hands were hauling him to his feet; he blinked up into the starchy pale face of Professor McGonagall.

"Hagrid, take him to the hospital tent at once." He had never heard her voice tremble like that. Before George could wonder about it, the ground shifted beneath him; he was suddenly swinging in Hagrid's arms, dizzied by the half-giant's long strides; George closed his eyes, only aware of the cold of the egg still clenched in a death grip against his chest.

* * *

><p>"...<em>Absolutely ridiculous...<em> Dragons, _of all things_...!"

The familiar muttering of the Hogwarts matron drifted through his consciousness. George opened his eyes onto white; he blinked, perceiving the draped tent ceiling curving away from him. He slowly turned his head - regretting it a moment later, as it made his head pulse - and was rewarded with the welcome sight of his twin seated beside his bed. His cracked lips twitched at a smile.

"...Fred? I ... I did it, Fred..."

Fred was as pale as a ghost; when George spoke he had shifted forward, relief flashing across his features; then his eyes narrowed.

"You bloody _idiot_. If I'd known you'd pull a stupid stunt like this..."

"...What're you talking about...?" George mumbled, not able to process much at the moment beyond the fact that he could no longer hear the bellowing of dragons in the arena. That alone considerably lightened his heart.

But Fred, instead of answering, only growled under his breath. George's lopsided smile faded; he wanted to ask why he was acting so strangely when voices echoed through the canvas beside them; it appeared they were in a separate cubicle of the medical tent, for shadows shifted across the tarp wall to his right.

"You two are so _stupid_!" Hermione's voice exclaimed - though it seemed with less anger and more feeling - and a mutter of protest seemed to come from Ron. A few moments later Ron, Hermione, and Harry - with bandages around one shoulder and his golden egg under his other arm - appeared in the doorway.

"Good to see you all huddled around my sickbed," George grinned at them, hefting himself slightly upward on his elbows in hopes of sitting up - instead he grimaced as his vision flickered with stars, and Fred's hand on his shoulder roughly pushed him back down.

"Stay _still_, you idiot."

"Er - how are you feeling?" Hermione ventured a bit awkwardly, nearing the side of his bed.

"Oddly enough, like I've been pummelled by a dragon." George winced and made to rub at his head - his fingers chafed against bandages and he froze, the color draining from his face.

Hermione quietly rummaged in her bag and a moment later had retrieved a hand mirror. "You'd best see this," she mumbled, handing it to him. George, his heart in his throat, stared at his reflection.

Even after Madam Pomfrey had done her best to clean him up, there were still darker flecks along the left side of his face, his hair matted with blood; and when he tilted the mirror he could plainly see the bandaged gap where his left ear had once been.

Fred cleared his throat and glanced away. "The dragon," he said hoarsely, "when it fell, its horn clipped you ... we all thought for a moment there, from all the blood..." He trailed off, unable or unwilling to continue. "Madam Pomfrey did her best, but..."

George drew a shaky breath and handed the mirror back; for a moment he met Hermione's eye and saw she was just as pale, the same horrific understanding in her gaze. It shouldn't have happened, not for three more years...

"Well..." he said with a weak attempt at a smile, "at least Mum should be able to tell us apart now, me being holey and all."

Fred shot him a deadened sort of glare. "If you insist on calling yourself that from now on, I swear, George, I _will_ murder you."

_To be continued..._

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><p>*blinks* Anyone see that one coming?<p>

Please review!


	9. Temporal Difficulties

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hey, all! Sorry about the wait on this one - I've been on holiday these past few weeks, and unfortunately had no internet access. The good news? I had lots of time to write, so expect quicker updates for a while. :D

(Oh, yes, and for those who think George and Hermione have a lot of problems on their hands now ... let's just say fate is not nearly through with them...)

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><p><strong>Chapter 8 - Temporal Difficulties<strong>

Fred had never been quite as terrified as he had been the instant his twin collapsed on the field. At first, no one understood what had happened; all around him students leaped from their seats, some leaning far out in order to better see what was going on below. The dragon's keening bellow echoed across the stadium as she continued to thrash wildly on her side, claws scrabbling at the air; her rightmost horn glistened a sickening ruby red and when she shook her head flecks of blood flew everywhere.

Fred, too, was on his feet, clenching with whitened fists to the rail in front of him; his vision swayed, and he was ignorant to Angelina and Alicia screaming at his side as his focus rested solely on his brother, his brother who still hadn't moved on the ground...

He couldn't even think to cry out, or do anything, as his mind had plunged into an icy blankness; Fred stood stock-still at the railing, and for several long moments he forgot to do so much as breathe. The entire world careened to a halt around him because George was lying there, limp, from his angle his head obscured by blood; and if he was - if he was dead -

If George left him, he was at an utter loss on his own.

Someone next to his ear shrieked and grabbed at his arm; Fred blinked and saw George dazedly stretching out his arms, dragging himself toward the dragon's exposed nest. He couldn't explain the sudden warm rush of feeling coursing through his body, though he didn't allow his eyes to waver from the ashen redhead below as if by mere force of will alone he could command him to safety.

When George curled himself around the gleaming golden egg and the dragon tamers, led by Charlie, surged out onto the field, Fred didn't hesitate; he was already tearing through the stands, hopping over bleachers in his mad rush. Around him pale faces appeared blurred, and he heard only from a distance Angelina calling out, starting after him. But in the confusion she soon faded from his sight, Fred wrestling his way through a group of Slytherins toward the stairs, all too stunned to sneer.

He reached the white tent set up on the edge of the stadium only moments after Hagrid, carrying his brother, ducked through the entranceway; Fred was panting now, hardly sparing a glance for Hermione who hovered near the tent, looking a bit sick. Skidding to a halt, he glanced wildly around the interior of the tent in a panic, sighting a tense Madam Pomfrey directing Hagrid toward a curtained-off section. Without thinking Fred plunged after them.

He nearly collided with Hagrid, exiting, and he skirted the half-giant without a word, his stomach turning over as he caught a brief glance at his large hands stained in George's blood. Now in the closed-off ward he gasped and fell to his knees next to his twin's bed.

"George -!"

Urgently he searched his expression, but George was unconscious after his brief second struggle, blood streaked along his left temple, eyes closed; his lips nevertheless quirked faintly in triumph, and his hands remained tightly clutched to the golden egg.

Madam Pomfrey for once did not shoo him as she set in on George's wound, muttering furiously to herself as she cleaned the blood away with her wand; Fred ignored her and reached over, prying the egg from his twin's grip - also struggling to ignore how cold his hands felt - and gingerly set the prize on the adjacent cabinet, where it gleamed rusty with bloodstains. Swallowing hard, Fred reached out a trembling hand and clasped George's own. His throat was too tight to speak, but he hoped that this reassurance alone would somehow convey itself to his twin.

God ... Fred closed his eyes, his other hand clenched into a fist in his lap. His heart was still hammering now in the tense silence, waiting for judgment. At the thought he squeezed George's hand tighter, afraid to let him go again for the fear of losing him - and he so very nearly had. There was no comparison for the cold terror that had gripped his heart when for an instant he thought he had lost his other half; and in those few heartbeats until he saw him moving again an impenetrable darkness had fallen over his mind, and then he had known with cold simplicity that if George died, he would take Fred with him, because he would never have the strength to smile or laugh again.

The possibility had never occurred to him as vividly - that Fred-and-George could be shattered. And it haunted him with foreboding as long as George lay there, unresponsive, Madam Pomfrey swabbing at his ear. A year ago, when the Dementors first swept aboard the Hogwarts Express, in their cold wake something of the same petrifying notion had slipped into his consciousness; he remembered for hours afterward he couldn't stop himself from shaking, and stared desperately at George, ingraining his liveliness in his mind.

The nightmares that had haunted him then - those he had told no one of - hurtled back in full force now, but it was no longer a vague, distant fear; for the first time Fred was confronted with the fragility of their existence, and it terrified him.

"Please, George ... _please_ wake up ..."

If he would just smile again, or open his eyes again, Fred could free himself of the fear freezing him to the spot. This inaction did nothing but accentuate his dark and shrouded thoughts; he needed to be moving...

Fred shifted to his feet, unable to stand the atmosphere any longer; and with the cold still tingling at his fingertips he pulled away from George, squeezing his hand tightly in a silent promise to return. He paced past the curtains and out into the open air.

He drew a deep, steadying breath, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Somewhere overhead boomed the voice of Ludo Bagman - Harry was up next - and to distract himself Fred wandered a few paces from the tent, then stopping short as though he had hit an invisible border; here, as far as he dared from his brother's side, he squinted up through the gap in the stands toward where a small dark figure was now cautiously advancing among the blackened rocks. A great Hungarian Horntail loomed at the end of the enclosure, growling lowly in her throat.

Through his daze he registered Harry raising his wand and shouting a spell; and he caught sight of the broomstick whistling toward him from over the grounds moments before there was a loud roar from the crowd; unhesitatingly Harry swung aboard his Firebolt and shot off into the air, tempting the Horntail into pursuit; they circled the stadium, Harry pulling out every trick he knew to stay ahead of his fearsome hunter.

It was over quickly after that: Harry dove, seizing a glimmering golden pinprick to a rush of cheers from the stadium. The first task was finished; the dragon tamers hurried onto the field and Harry was ushered in the direction of the hospital tent - the dragon had clipped him and his shoulder was bleeding.

Fred retreated before Harry reached the tent, ducking back over to George's side. He caught his twin's hand, resting above the covers, and his heart lifted a little to feel his skin was warmer than before. Madam Pomfrey had just finished binding the bandages around his head, and glanced up sharply; her expression eased to recognize him.

"There. He's stable now." She laid her hand briefly on Fred's shoulder, then turning to collect the various bottles of potion and ointment on the cabinet beside his bed. Fred gazed at George's face; though the majority of the blood was gone now, that only made it easier to see the jarring emptiness on the left side of his head. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak.

"And - and his ear?"

Madam Pomfrey glanced back at him and her lips pursed slightly. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that. It was far from a clean cut - since most of it was lost out there, I could only remove what was left of the damaged tissue to prevent infection. There'll be no fixing it, I'm afraid."

Fred only nodded slightly, and Madam Pomfrey bustled off as Harry stumbled into the tent, clutching to his shoulder; he turned back to his twin and squeezed his hand again.

_An ear._ Fred tried to smile. _Only an ear._

No matter his attempts to convince himself, his stomach still twisted sickly at the thought of what could have been.

* * *

><p>When the five of them left the tent, it was to a roar of cheers from the crowd; George was propped between Fred and Ron, being hardly able to walk in a straight line on his own, leaving Hermione to hurry after them holding to two golden eggs, Harry walking alongside them in a daze with his Firebolt in hand.<p>

In the absence of a dragon, they had a clear view to the judges' table: Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Bagman, and Mr Crouch; as they looked on, the judges raised their wands, each unfurling a number score into the air. George read them off: eight, seven, two, eight, and seven, respectively; he considered himself to have done well off, all things considered, until he saw Harry's score...

George nudged Fred. "I expect you to show me up, you know," he whispered, "regain a bit of my injured pride and all..."

"Don't worry," Fred said breezily, seemingly more cheerful now that George was back to his usual self, albeit less one ear. "We'll just let Harry enjoy the fame for now, while he can."

George grinned most evilly at that. "I like the way you think, Fred."

"That's because I'm the brilliant and dastardly twin."

"...Dream on, Fred, dream on," George mumbled, closing his eyes against an oncoming dizzy spell; right now he was thinking it would be nice to head back to bed before the crowds came to confront him. Leave that part to Fred.

When he glanced up once more, however, Charlie Weasley was coming toward them, and he was doing a very good impersonation of their mother; George winced, deeming his reverie would have to wait. He braced himself for the oncoming storm.

"Mum is going to _kill _me for this," Charlie promptly groaned, eyeing George's face, which was still flecked with blood. "Oh, God, if I had known you were going to run right at it..."

"But his spellwork was brilliant, you saw his marks," Fred argued, George smiling faintly at his support. "It was just bad luck, really - Fate's way of ensuring I stayed the most handsome twin."

"Fred," George said warningly. "_Holey_."

Fred promptly shut up about his supposed handsomeness, giving George a wary sidelong glance. Truth to be told, George didn't want to dwell on the matter he jokingly brought up ... his stomach twisted as suddenly he wondered if it really _was_ wise to give Fred responsibility of the second task, Fate's apparently cruel sense of humour considered.

Charlie shook his head at their banter. "Never mind that now, I guess," he sighed heavily. "Anyway - you should go, Bagman wants a word in the champions' tent, think it's about the next task."

Fred glanced sideways at George. "I'll go," he said, "find out what you'll be doing next and all." He winked and moved off with Harry; Ron and Hermione had gone off to wait for them outside the ring. All around them, the stands were emptying; George and Charlie stood alone in the arena, staring at one another.

"Listen, Char, I'm sorry -" George mumbled.

Charlie closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. "If I were Mum," he said at last, "I'd be berating you for risking your life over something like this ... for not having any regard for the consequences, or the rest of us who have to live with them. But I'm not Mum, George ... I know you two are smart and you have your reasons for what you do..." He sighed and reached out a hand to touch George's shoulder. "But this isn't a game."

"I know," George said, very quietly. "I know it more than you think, Char. I made a stupid mistake and I can't let it happen again. It's nobody's fault but my own. And you're right about one thing." With a thin smile he met his older brother's eye. "I do have a reason for doing this, even if I can't tell you right now, and I've made a promise to make it through this thing alive." _Both of us,_ he added silently.

"I'll trust you on that," Charlie conceded, releasing his shoulder. "Just ... be careful, all right? Both of you." He grinned suddenly, sheepishly. "Because I'd like to see this joke shop you're planning someday."

George didn't answer; though he understood Charlie's way of telling them to keep themselves safe, that had hit a little too close to the truth for comfort. With all the threat of the approaching war, Charlie wouldn't have the chance to visit their Diagon Alley premises until ... until there was no point anymore.

"We'll be sure to give you a discount," George promised at last. "So long as you come right over as soon as we open, all right?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," said Charlie.

George grinned suddenly and glanced up at him. "There's sure to be a crazy Gryffindor party tonight, Char, you in?"

"...Unfortunately, I have other matters to tend to. Specifically, my job." Charlie shook his head, still grinning, and drew George into a half-hug. "I'll see you and Fred later, all right? Don't get yourselves into too much trouble now."

"We'll be sure not to get caught," George promised.

"Right. And if you ever need an - er - ear, as it were - " George grimaced, " - don't hesitate to drop me an owl."

"You're worse than Fred."

"Why, thank you. I am, after all, the original short and most handsome Weasley."

* * *

><p>Just as George predicted, the party in the Gryffindor common room that night was one for the record books. The sheer mass of cheering and screaming brought Professor McGonagall no less than twice to the scene, in her tartan nightgown, to sternly demand they quiet themselves, else she start docking house points.<p>

Both Harry and George were hailed as heroes by the Gryffindors; between absolutely everyone approaching them with congratulations, they were avidly appealed to retell blow-by-blow their experiences with the dragons, which George could now recite by rote; the golden eggs were passed hand over hand through the crowd, each supplying helpful predictions as to what he or she thought the second task would be.

After the afternoon's events, the party was a welcome release; Fred and George had earlier cajoled the house elves into sending up platters upon platters of food and bottles of Butterbeer. Lee had set off some festive fireworks which danced and sparked above the heads of the crowd; and Dean Thomas, a roommate of Harry's, had drawn some impressive banners adorned with Harry flying circles around the Horntail, others with George's fireworks display, and one that seemed to be in commemoration of the sacrifice of his ear. Even laughing at the sight, George reckoned he missed a little the mental image of Cedric Diggory with his head on fire.

Lee Jordan had just gotten hold of one of the eggs and raised it high in the air. "All right, who wants to see them open it?" he asked, beaming, of the crowd, which roared in response. Lee tossed the egg to Harry while Fred retrieved the other one.

"Go on, just a look," Lee pressed. "Let's just see what's in it!"

Harry looked a little uncertain, but now the crowd was chanting, "Open it! Open it!" He glanced at George, who nodded; knowing what to expect, George wisely refused the egg from his twin.

"You do the honours this time."

"All right," said Fred, and he and Harry simultaneously pried open the golden eggs.

At once a terrible shrieking sound echoed about the chamber; George, who had the misfortune to be sitting between both eggs, clamped a hand over his remaining ear; all around him people were doing the same and diving to the ground as if afraid the eggs might explode.

"CLOSE THE BLOODY THINGS!" someone shouted, and then, miraculously, there was silence. Panting, Fred and Harry exchanged glances.

"What the bleeding hell was that?" asked Seamus Finnegan, looking shaken. "A banshee? Maybe you'll have to fight one of those next..."

"Dunno," said George airily, "whatever it was, it most definitely wasn't human."

They mused on the eggs' screaming for a while, the crowd's suggestions growing more and more outrageous - "You'll have to throw off the Cruciatus curse," Neville Longbottom professed, pale and clammy at the thought, while a third year girl claimed, "You'll have to fight an army of zombies!"

George drew his limit at zombies, and, rising and taking the egg back from Fred, was about to renounce himself to bed - it was way after midnight and he was sure any minute now McGonagall would return to investigate the source of the ethereal screaming.

However, he then caught sight of a bushy-haired witch struggling through the crowd, her book bag under her arm - it seemed she had taken the night for more practical uses. George barely refrained from rolling his eyes and instead cast about for an unsuspicious way to draw Hermione's attention.

Fred was quicker. He had just picked up a tray of desserts and started offering them to the crowd - which George highly suspected to be tampered with, as Fred usually wasn't this benevolent - and now held out the plate to Hermione. George winced and hurried after him, figuring turning your future girlfriend into a giant canary was _not_ the best way to start the relationship off on the right foot.

He needn't have worried, however, as Hermione was smart enough to be wary of anything the twins handed her. "You've cursed them, haven't you?" she was saying, as Fred waved the tarts temptingly under her nose.

"Me?" Fred laughed airily. "Don't you trust me, Granger?"

"Not on your life."

"Ah, I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less from you, tough customer," Fred said, shaking his head. "All right. I'll let you in on a little secret." He lowered his voice. "I know these ones are safe, 'cause it's the custard creams we cursed."

George glanced around at that and was rewarded with the very horrified look on Neville's face as he spat out a mouthful of custard.

"I'm not sure I believe you," said Hermione, smiling faintly, though her voice was still firm. "Thank you anyway." She made to move off, but at that moment Neville provided a distraction with his transformation into an overly large canary in a puff of yellow feathers; the common room roared with laughter.

"Sorry, Neville!" Fred yelled over the din, his apologetic facade ruined by the fact that he was beaming and trying very hard not to laugh outright. "I forgot about those ... Canary Creams!" he added to the room in general, "George and I invented them ... seven sickles each, bargain!"

Neville started moulting in a few moments and was soon laughing with the others as Lee went around rattling their money tin and collecting orders; in the distraction George leaned over to Hermione.

"I think we need -"

"Tomorrow night," she cut him off, "yes. I've nearly perfected my Occlumency now. And ... there's something I have to tell you, too, when you can shield your mind."

George nodded, puzzled at how she had suddenly dropped her gaze from his; but at that moment Fred turned back to them.

"So, you see, no harm done," he smiled gallantly. "What d'you think? We made it ourselves from scratch."

Hermione considered. "I suppose it is a fair bit of complex transfiguration," she allowed at last. "For seven sickles you could make it last longer, but not too much, mind, maybe make him sing a little bit..."

Fred was staring at Hermione as if he had never met her before. "Blimey, she's got a bit of a dark side to her, hasn't she?"

Hermione, unblushing, raised an eyebrow. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Anyway, thanks for the idea, 'Mione, George and I'll get to work on that right away," Fred said brightly, signalling to Lee across the room. In his distraction he didn't notice Hermione's cheeks go slightly pink as she daintily plucked a jam tart from off his tray.

"Don't mention it. And don't call me that," she said, heading off toward the girls' staircase.

"Don't call you what?" Fred said blankly, shooting a look at George, who only shook his head slightly, amused by the never-ending debate.

_And so it begins._

* * *

><p>Wednesday evening, George finally found a way to escape what seemed to be a never-ending game of Exploding Snap and hurried to the seventh floor corridor; out of breath, he paced back and forth, summoning again the mental image of the DA headquarters of long ago; on his third turn he apperceived the familiar door forming out of the wall and seized the handle.<p>

Hermione was waiting for him, seated cross-legged on a cushion once used for when the DA had practiced Stunning spells. George grabbed a cushion, himself, and sat down next to her.

"So," he said, once they were both settled. "I suppose we have a bit of a break until February."

"Make sure you don't leave the task until the last minute," Hermione reminded him. "That's what Harry did last time, and look where that got him."

"Extra points from Dumbledore for his chivalry?"

Hermione made a face at him.

"All right, I'll work on it. Now, Granger, I believe you said you had something to tell me."

Hermione glanced away. "We'll work on Occlumency first. We really should have done this in the first place..." She drew a long breath. "In any case, I don't think anyone's suspicious just yet."

George shifted. "I've been reading up on the Map. Let's do this."

Hermione nodded and shut her eyes. "All right, I have to warn you, I've never really done this before ... pried into someone's thoughts, I mean ... so if I do something wrong..."

"That's very comforting," George said dryly. "Let's just get this over with."

"A - all right. You're supposed to hold eye contact for it to work best ... I want you to try your best to shield your thoughts from me: clear your mind of emotion and thought. Ready?"

George nodded. Hermione drew a shaky breath and set about silently staring at him, her hazel gaze boring into his own; her brow furrowed in focus. George stared back, uncertain, trying to push all thought from his mind, as he had when the nightmares were too great and everywhere he looked he was only reminded of what he had lost...

"_Legitimens_," Hermione breathed.

It was as though someone had taken half a dozen hammers and started pounding away feverishly against his skull; blinded by the sudden pain, George struggled to find that sanctuary - that void of thought - but the incessant pain was still there, demanding attention.

A strangled gasp escaped him and suddenly he blinked hard, finding himself with his head in his hands and Hermione looking on in horror.

"Are you -?"

"Fine," he gasped, running his hands along his clammy temples. "Just - continue..."

Hermione nodded, unnerved, and repeated the spell. "_Legitimens_."

It came again, a sharp pain as though someone was drilling into his skull; this time George was ready for it and he threw all his resistance at it, clinging to a numb calm. There was nothing but silence; the pain was only a distant prickle, a reminder of where he was; this time he held Hermione's stare evenly, fighting her off.

Her brow furrowed further; she was muttering under her breath to keep her focus, and he watched the soundless movement of her lips without wondering as to what she was saying. He was drifting without thought: perfectly calm.

And then the dam cracked; he wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow through the sharpening stab of pain he lost his grip anew. Before he could reach again for his calm center, the attack breached his mind and there were images flashing in his head, the distantly recalled memories transitioning nearly too rapidly for him to differentiate one from the other: a shared birthday when the twins were about five, their brothers and sister gathered around the cake, singing and laughing; two eleven-year-old boys hanging out the window of a scarlet train, waving to their mother; a Quidditch match, their first, in second year ... he had his arm in a sling for weeks afterward due to an unlucky hit with the Bludger; the wild celebration after their Quidditch Cup victory, last year; a prickling of jealousy as he watched Fred and Angelina talking and laughing together from afar; he and Fred flying off from Hogwarts as fireworks bloomed in the sky around them; blood matting the couch at the Burrow, blurred with the roar of a dragon. George knew what was coming; they were traveling the years much more quickly now and his mind balked.

"No ... _no_..." He blinked hard; sweat ran into his eyes and he scrubbed the back of his hand along his face, gasping. Hermione was still watching him, but she too was breathing hard now.

"You managed to throw me off," she said, brushing back a lock of her hair from her eyes. "Even though I got to your memories, it took a long time ... I ... I'm impressed, I couldn't do it the first time."

George said nothing. They had been close - _so close_ - and he wasn't sure if he could have resisted it, had she kept up the trance a few seconds longer.

"Should we do it again?" he asked instead, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension that had built up; Hermione nodded, then hesitated for a moment.

"George, if you don't mind me asking ... what was that one near the end...?"

"It was my ear - both times - they got mixed up somehow, I dunno -"

"No," she said quietly, focused at picking at a fray in the pillow by her knee. "Before that."

"Oh..." He grimaced, trying to remember through the pounding in his head. "Fred was dating Angelina in fifth year - last year, I guess? - I reckon I was a bit jealous that they spent so much time together..."

"Are they still...?" Hermione asked timidly, and George, suddenly understanding, barked a laugh.

"No, they broke up last summer. Hermione, I can't believe you - you're _jealous_?"

"No, of course not," she snapped, straightening, "I knew he saw other people before, it's just ... Never mind."

George shook his head, sobering. "All right. Let's do this one more time."

"_Legitimens_."

This time ... this time he resisted as soon as he felt the pressure against his skull, closing his eyes and forcing his mind into a perfect void: a shield of fog. He felt Hermione pushing harder, trying to find a loose strand in his shield, but George was determined this time. He was fighting for Fred ... for the fact that as long as no one knew, he would never have to lose him again...

As Hermione searched, futilely, George switched tactics; instead of passively resisting he threw his focus behind his shields, pinpointing the prick of her presence and pushing against it, hard.

"...Ah!"

And then suddenly there were images flashing like a Muggle film in fast-forward in his mind; but as urgently as he searched, they were foreign, not his own; there was a small girl with bushy brown hair laughing and playing, the smiles of proud parents; there was school, and other children, whispering behind their hands; a wad of gum stuck into her thick hair and outbursts of laughter; and the brown-haired girl's face streaked with tears as she buried her face in her pillow.

_...Hermione._

George's head jerked back and the connection shattered; Hermione had fallen back, wide-eyed, something almost like terror visible for a moment in her hazel eyes; then George blinked, his breathing coming in quickened rasps, and it was gone.

"What ... how ...?"

He hadn't meant to see that; he hadn't meant to pry. George shook his head, his head still pounding in the after-effect of the spell. "_God_, Hermione, I'm sorry ... I don't know what I did..."

"You threw me off," she gasped, seemingly stunned. "You threw me off, and you were so strong you saw right into my memories..."

"I'm sorry -"

"No. No, this ... this is wonderful. I think you're a natural at this." She tried to smile, yet it came out a bit shaken. "At least no one will suspect anything."

"Yeah..." He shifted on his cushion, still disturbed by what he had done; was this the same way Voldemort invaded the minds of his enemies? The thought made him shudder and he forced it aside. Instead, running his hands through his unruly hair, he began to wonder about something else.

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened; in Defence, too, hadn't he surprised himself at how well he could hold off the Imperius curse? It was as though somehow, after months of waging against the nightmares and the memories, and eventually adapting to locking them away in some far corner of his consciousness, he had unconsciously tightened the defences around his mind. Was it possible he had unknowingly laid the foundations for Occlumency in his efforts to shield himself from the past?

Hermione cleared her throat, drawing him back; her eyes were carefully lowered. "Then I suppose we can talk about our plans now. George, there's a problem."

"What?" he said reluctantly, jolting back to the present now and frowning slightly. "What could go worse? I'm in the Tournament, Voldemort's still gonna come back, and Mum's gonna kill me when she finds out I lost an ear -"

"I'm pregnant," said Hermione.

George somehow choked on his own spit. "Wh - _what_?"

Hermione kept her eyes directed at the floor as a steady flush seeped into her cheeks. "I ... I kind of suspected ... since soon after we got here, I had m-morning sickness ... I didn't want to tell you before the first task, you had enough to worry about yourself -"

"Hermione," he cut off her hastening rant, staring at her, "how the hell ... I mean, you're like fourteen ..."

"Fifteen," she corrected coolly.

"- Yeah, close enough, and you're not even seeing anyone -"

Hermione drew a long breath and let it out, slowly. "I think," she began, drawing on her usual brusque tone, "it's because of the Veil again. I ... I was worried this might happen, you see, when we left the future I was p-pregnant, a little over four months ... I suppose the Veil just reset it, like us."

George's brow furrowed as he did some very quick math. "But then ... that couldn't have been with Ron...?"

"I did not sleep with Ron!" Hermione cried out indignantly.

"All right, all right, sorry! - but then when...?"

"Shell Cottage ..." she mumbled. "We went there in April to lay low, remember, and - and you two came by, just after Diagon Alley was destroyed..."

"Wait," George said slowly, struggling to put this abrupt revelation into perspective. "If you knew, then why didn't you tell any of us? Why didn't you tell _me_?" His last inquiry came out sharper than he had intended as an unknown prickling of anger sparked in his mind.

"Because I only found out after - after the battle! R-Ron figured it out, accidentally, that's why we - why he suggested we get married so it didn't look as bad ..." Hermione's eyes had filled with tears; her words came out in a rush, and the total lapse from her usual cool demeanor alarmed him all the more. She sniffed, "Because I couldn't tell anyone, n-not when we weren't married and Fred was - and Fred was d-"

"All right!" George cut her off roughly, unable to hear that word. Drawing an unsteady breath, he went on with a forced attempt at calm. "All right, I understand ... let's just think about this for a minute..."

Hermione sniffed a little and rubbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I know I'm such a mess..."

She looked so scared and out of her element that George shifted over to kneel beside her and pulled her into his arms before he registered what he was doing; but even if his heart was pounding and he was just as lost, he knew that she needed this now. It was what Fred would have done, he thought distantly.

"We'll work something out, 'Mione, don't worry about it."

"But how?" she mumbled into his shoulder. "This wasn't supposed to happen...! I - I'm only fifteen and - and I've never even kissed a boy yet..."

"You've -? Oh, never mind - listen, there's only one thing to do," George said with a certainty he didn't quite feel. Hermione glanced up at him hopefully.

"And...?"

George took a deep breath, his mind racing; he knew it was risky, and if they messed this up it would be hell for both of them. That was why he hadn't wanted to attempt to alter it in the first place, but bugger that now.

"I'm going to set you up with Fred."

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>(1) I plan to elaborate on their future relationship, as well as most of what the twins were doing during DH, in later chapters. Basically, for now, the twins went to lie low at Shell Cottage instead of at Muriel's. And Diagon Alley may have blown up. But yeah.<p>

Please review!


	10. An Unexpected Task

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Here you go. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: An Unexpected Task<strong>

It was five minutes to the bell in Transfiguration on Thursday when Professor McGonagall collected the last of the potted figs that they were supposed to be turning into colourful rose bushes; then she cleared her throat, addressing the bemused class.

"I have a few words before we leave today regarding a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament that will take place during the Christmas break," she began, and for a moment George stopped idly doodling on a scrap of parchment, on which he and Fred had been enacting a fierce game of hangman.

"The Yule Ball will take place on Christmas Day from eight until midnight. It is traditionally a dance and an opportunity for us all to socialize with our foreign guests. It will only be open to fourth year and above, though younger students may come by invitation. Now, as the host school, I warn you that we will not tolerate any behaviour inappropriate for school." Was it just his imagination, or did her glare settle on him and Fred as she said that? George grinned innocently and set aside his quill.

"No student of Gryffindor will shame the high standards of our school, or they will be facing the consequences," Professor McGonagall went on warningly. "Is that understood?"

There was mumbled assent and nods from all gathered; apparently satisfied, Professor McGonagall turned away. "Very well - you are dismissed. George Weasley, a word, if you please."

George hastily gathered up his school things and bid Fred and Lee meet him in the hall afterward; he approached McGonagall's desk, silently running over his every gesture in class and wondering if he had done something significant enough to earn her ire.

Nevertheless, when Professor McGonagall spoke, it was in a kinder tone. "Mr Weasley, as school champion, you and your partner will be opening the ball."

"Er - right," said George, mentally kicking himself for completely forgetting about the Yule Ball in his planning. He had been rather distracted as of late trying to figure out how to get Fred to notice Hermione without seeming to play the matchmaker.

"I trust you will be on your best behaviour," she said sternly. "You and Potter will be representing the school, and good heavens, that boy told me this morning he can't even dance..."

"Don't worry, I'm on it," said George with enthusiasm he didn't quite feel; Professor McGonagall nodded and offered him a biscuit before he hurried out of class, hoping Fred and Lee hadn't decided to desert him in favour of supper.

* * *

><p>"So. The Yule Ball," said Fred cheerily as they tucked in to roast and potatoes amid the chatter of the Great Hall. "Who d'you reckon you'll go with?"<p>

"Dunno," said Lee, but his eyes wandered absently along the table to where Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were whispering excitedly to one another.

"George?"

"Huh?" George's mind was on other matters. "Er, not sure yet, but turns out I have to open the ball with them..." He told them, distractedly, about what McGonagall had said; then, grabbing a piece of roll, he made to rise. "See you later."

"Where're you going?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Library - have to look something up."

Fred and Lee stared at him in horror. "For what reason?" Fred demanded. "The task's ages away and our Potions essay isn't due until next Friday."

"I told you, that's your responsibility," George shook his head at Fred, exasperated, "and the essay's due Wednesday. In any case ... product idea. See you."

George, munching on the roll, headed off for the doors as Fred stared after him with his brow furrowed; at long last he turned to Lee beside him.

"...It's really due Wednesday?"

Lee nodded solemnly.

"Ah, crap."

"Never mind that ... who're you gonna take to the ball, mate?"

* * *

><p>"There you are, Potter," said Fred at last as he and George cornered Harry, Ron, and Hermione where they were poring over their Transfiguration books by the fire. "Been looking for you."<p>

"Why?" Harry looked warily between the twins. "What's up?"

"We have something very important to show you, it'll help in the Tournament," said George.

"I thought you weren't supposed to help -" Ron began, glancing to Hermione for confirmation, who nodded with her brow furrowed.

"Easy," Fred said, waving him off. "No one has to know. You'll thank us later. C'mon, now, let's get upstairs."

Curious, the three fourth years stowed away their homework and trooped after them up to their dormitory; Fred and George exchanged triumphant grins.

"Now, you see, we'd like to teach you a little something we picked up, being awesome short Weasleys and all," Fred began when they were standing in the middle of the circular sixth year dormitory.

"And that is...?" Ron said, folding his arms.

Fred grinned broadly and spread his arms. "Dancing lessons."

It took two hours and many sore toes, but at long last Harry and Ron could waltz without looking like stumbling duck-footed platypuses. The twins took turns dancing with them (learning quite quickly that it was less painful to have Harry stomp on your toes than Ron) while Hermione looked on in amusement. George's previous disclaimer of, "You'll just use your lovely imaginations and pretend we're your female companions," did not seem to have much effect, as with his ears bright red Ron kept shooting glances at the door as if at any moment someone might walk in and see them like this.

Finally, George flopped down on his bed with a groan. "I think that's enough for today." Reaching down, he tossed aside his shoes and wiggled his toes, just to ensure they were all still attached and functional.

"Aren't you glad we got the short Weasley genes?" Fred said to him with a grin. "Sometimes I feel sorry for the likes of Ron and Bill and ... well, maybe not so much Percy, he's a git anyway."

"We weren't that bad!" Ron spluttered incredulously, looking around pleadingly at Hermione. "Weren't we?"

"Oh, _Ron_," said Hermione, shaking her head. "Well, I don't pity your date as much now..." As Fred and George sniggered, she bolstered, "At the end, there, you did really well - you've got the rhythm now, you've just got to practice leading instead of just standing there." She looked around at Harry. "And you, Harry - you did well, too. Just try to keep looking - er - _her_ in the eye now instead of at her feet."

"Hey," George muttered, tossing a pillow in her general direction. "I'm quite happy being a guy, thanks."

"I think Hermione just about covered it," Fred said, clapping his hands. "Brilliant - another lesson tomorrow night, then, and you should be just about ready enough on your own - but hang on a sec." He had stopped short and raised an accusing finger at Hermione. "She just watched us suffer all this time ... how do we know _she_ has any clue how to dance?"

"I -" Hermione began crossly, but before she could formulate a coherent protest Fred had stepped forward and seized her wrist; her breath caught as he pulled her out onto the makeshift dance floor, one hand finding her waist, the other her right hand.

George blinked bemusedly at the scene a moment as the two started to dance; Hermione's cheeks glowed pink as she fell into step with him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, what do you know, you are decent at this, Granger," Fred remarked as he spun her around and brought her back into his arms. Hermione was beaming, but she said nothing. George, drawing himself out of his reverie, turned back to Ron and Harry.

"You two - together, now." He ignored the boys' complaints, forcing the two together none too gently and watching as they stumbled and shuffled, Ron, now leading, accidentally treading on Harry's foot.

"Sorry -"

But it didn't matter if they were horrid, so long as for a few moments more Hermione had that dazed happy look on her face, Fred oblivious as always as he teased her about the finer points of her movements.

He didn't miss, either, the very strange look Ron shot over his shoulder at them as the three later trooped out of the room, leaving the twins to nurse their sore feet for twenty-four hours more.

* * *

><p>The cool December breeze tickled her cheeks as Hermione turned her head out over the lake, enjoying the slightest weak sunbeam and the feel of the wind on her skin, tugging through her long curly hair. She tightened her red and gold scarf about her neck and shifted in her chosen perch upon the dock stretched out onto the black lake.<p>

The water rippled as she dragged her bare toes through it - the touch of ice sent shivers up her legs, but it was a welcome sort of feeling. The lake hadn't frozen over in a way she suspected to be magic; farther out along the shoreline she could see the great bobbing Durmstrang ship tethered, its many sails folded, high above a small flag with the school's logo flapping in the breeze.

She enjoyed being out here, where it was quiet and she could allow herself to think; with the upcoming Christmas break and the Yule Ball, the Gryffindor common room was particularly boisterous of late, and she didn't yearn to go off to the Room of Requirement more so than necessary in order to avoid raising suspicion.

She sighed softly. Down along the shore, she could hear the echoes of giggles from the usual fan club that followed Viktor Krum around - the celebrity himself was there in the water, as he always was in the afternoons, swimming back and forth in long strokes. Hermione was rather annoyed that his choice of timing coincided with her own; she had been hoping to have time to herself, after all, and that giggling was getting on her nerves... She sighed again and resumed staring at the distant horizon, where sunlight gleamed through the pinprick treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

"Something bothering you?"

Hermione jumped; she whirled to face a familiar figure crouched next to her and spluttered, "_Fred_! What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, rocking back on his haunches. "Could ask the same of you, you know."

Hermione opened her mouth for a tart reply and deemed she didn't have one. Instead she turned away and resumed lightly trailing her toes through the water. Fred followed her movement with his gaze.

"Aren't you cold?"

Hermione shook her head and grinned slightly, holding up her wand. "Warming charm every ten minutes."

"Ah."

Fred settled cross-legged beside her, his gaze wandering about their surroundings. Hermione half wanted to ask how he had found her - or why - or where George was at the moment ... but none of these queries made it to her mouth; her heart had begun to hammer in her chest and she directed her stare very purposefully at her bare feet. She wondered, idly and with a bit of shame, if she should have chosen to paint her chipped nails as Lavender and Parvati had been doing that morning: a vibrant purple and garish pink, respectively.

"Hermione Granger," Fred said suddenly, sounding amused, and Hermione glanced up sharply; a smirk played at his lips as he watched something farther down the shore. "I never would've guessed, you of all people."

"What?" she asked, a bit sharper than she intended.

"A Krum fan girl, are we?" He nodded to where the Bulgarian seeker had just risen from the water, rivulets shining on his toned chest. Viktor Krum rubbed a towel through his dark hair, apparently oblivious to - or very good at ignoring - the group of girls crouched behind a nearby rock, giggling none too subtly.

Hermione's face flushed furiously. "I am most certainly not -! I was here first," she huffed, a bit childishly, she knew. She crossed her arms. "I just came here to enjoy the weather."

Fred made a disbelieving noise in his throat, but did not press further; she was glad of that as, her cheeks burning, she remembered in the past how Viktor would choose her for his Yule Ball date and the alienation it would cost her with Ron more so than Harry. It wasn't that she didn't like him - though not in that way, _honestly_ - but she had a feeling most other people only liked him for his fame. Her indifference in that regard was what had drawn Viktor to her in the first place, and it had made it incredibly difficult to refuse his offer, even if she had wanted to, a little, to see if a certain someone else... Hermione shook off that train of thought as another more worrisome realization surfaced in her mind, and she frowned suddenly.

She had seen perhaps less of Viktor than last time around, having taken to the Room of Requirement instead of the library when needed, due to the fact that it was much quieter these days and she already knew most of her schoolwork by heart. All that aside, she had seen firsthand the tricks fate played on them: was it possible Viktor would choose to ask her to the Yule Ball again?

And what would she do if he _did_, in her predicament?

She drew herself back to the present to find Fred was playing with her abandoned shoes. She stared a moment, bemused, then made to grab them out of his grasp - "Hey, I need those -!"

"What, you think I'll curse them, too?" Fred grinned, ducking out of her range; they were both on their feet now, him flaunting his extra few inches of height to hold the shoes out of her grasp. "You're a touchy one, aren't you?"

Hermione set her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I wouldn't be if you wouldn't insist on being so - so-" She stopped short, struggling for a strong enough word.

"So what?" Fred asked.

_So irresistible,_ she thought, but couldn't voice that particular thought aloud as color burned at her cheeks. This was how it had started last time: a bit of teasing in the brief times they were in contact; during the summer at Grimmauld Place, it had become something more, something almost like friendship as she offered the occasional tips with their experiments; somehow, then, she had learned at last to fully tell them apart. She had always had a feeling when it came to them; it was just something in the way that Fred looked at her that was different from George, and to this day she couldn't quite put it in words. She certainly hadn't been able to back then, as naive as she had been, as she hardly came to realize just how deeply she had fallen in love with Fred Weasley.

"...so _difficult_," Hermione finished finally, still glaring unwaveringly at him. Fred blinked, a slow smirk crossing his face. Hermione tried to ignore how that familiar devious expression made her heart flip.

"Am I, now? I think my dastardly ways have finally gotten to you, Granger. You'll see, I'll convert you to our side yet."

"I'd like to see you try," Hermione said under her breath, musing that she was already on _their side_, more than he could ever know. "Now give me back my shoes."

"Uh-uh! Magic word, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "_Accio_."

She still had her wand in hand; a slight flick of her wrist and the shoes came flying back toward her. Smiling confidently, she held out an open hand to catch them. Unfortunately, she had missed one detail in her ploy: in his surprise, Fred hadn't let go of the shoes, either.

The next thing she knew, the wind was knocked out of her as Fred crashed into her; she stumbled, her feet slipping on the wet dock, and she flailed out her arms to catch herself, one hand seizing Fred by the front of his robes. In the next second they had both spectacularly overbalanced, pin-wheeling their arms all the while; and then a startled shriek escaped her a moment before she plunged backward into the icy water, shock plain on his face as she pulled Fred down with her.

* * *

><p>Farther along the shore, Harry and Ron were on their way to meet Hermione; they had already searched her favourite haunts (i.e. the library) and after Ron pointed out they'd be better off checking the Marauder's Map, the two boys were then off across the grounds to find her. Harry had spotted her first on the dock and had just shouted out a greeting, raising his hand in a wave; in the next instant his eyes widened as he saw Hermione disappear into the water, dragging another figure with her.<p>

"Ron, did you see -?"

"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted, horror blanching his face; tossing aside their school bags without a second thought the two ran ahead to rescue their friend.

They rushed past the clump of fan girls, who paused a moment to look after them in confusion; but then too another figure joined their course, and with a sidelong glance Harry did a double-take to recognize Viktor Krum, bare chested and in swim trunks, running alongside them.

Krum reached the dock first; he dived, the water rippling in his wake. Ron and Harry hastened to remove their bulky outer cloaks and kick off their shoes. "Wait here, Harry," Ron said, pale faced but determined, before following Krum's gesture and plunging beneath the dark surface of the water.

Harry waited, his heart pounding in the silence. The fan girls were freaking out on shore, but he ignored them, searching the bobbing surface for any sign, a ripple, or even bubbles - _bubbles!_

Harry jerked forward into motion, dropping to his knees and reaching out a hand as a figure broke the surface; it was Ron, gasping, his hair plastered to his forehead, and he had an arm around an equally waterlogged figure. Both seized Harry's hands and clambered up onto the dock, lying there a moment with their chests heaving; then Ron sat up and his face burned as red as his hair.

"What - the - bloody hell - did you think you were _doing_?" he snarled, and lunging forward grasped the front of his brother's robes; Fred actually shrank back a little at the glare Ron was giving him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, coughing out a mouthful of water; he glanced around blearily. "Where's Granger -?"

But just then another head broke the surface; Viktor Krum hefted a drenched and trembling figure onto the dock before climbing up himself and Harry rushed to fetch his cloak, which he wrapped about Hermione's shoulders.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione coughed; her long hair was tangled and half plastered to her face, and she was soaked from head to foot in her thick robes; she managed only a faint mumble of thanks as Harry held his cloak around her, feeling her trembling against him.

"You are all right?" Krum asked her now, kneeling in front of her. Hermione started a little and, wide-eyed, met his gaze.

"Y-yes ... I think so ... th-thank you..."

Ron shifted forward. "Hermione, whatever my prat of a brother did to you, I swear -"

"I didn't do anything," Fred protested weakly, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him; Krum glanced to Harry.

"She vill get cold like this - she should be getting to the castle," he said.

"I'll take her," said Ron, with another glare at Fred. He helped Hermione to her feet and kept a steady grip under her elbow as Hermione shot a wide-eyed, helpless look at the others behind her - at least Harry had given Fred the other cloak, and they seemed to be conversing in low voices.

She turned back around and tugged the clasp of Harry's cloak tighter to her neck, freezing in the winter air. She had lost her shoes when she fell in the lake; she was barefoot, and her toes were freezing. Ron was hastening her toward the castle, but she paused a moment to utter a warming spell: at least that would do for now.

As she limped past Viktor's group of fans, she felt their ugly glares on the back of her head; she kept her gaze downcast, horror making her cheeks glow.

This was not what she had planned; not at all. And now ... she had more than one man's precarious emotions to contend with...

* * *

><p><em>Viktor Krum likes me.<em> Hermione reflected wryly that if she were any other female member of the species, that thought alone would make her heart pound and her stomach flutter with inexplicable joy.

But the notion only made her heart pang. For the past few days, she had been in such a state that even her roommates had taken to noticing her melancholy; and Hermione, try as she might, couldn't shake the depression that had taken root in the bottom of her stomach.

It was the last day of term and an unbearable air of festive excitement hung in the air: everywhere girls were whispering and conferring about their dress choices or boasting their dates; on the other side of the spectrum, Harry and Ron were in a terrible dilemma of their own, and had taken to in whispers debating each girl that passed in the hallway.

"No ... look at those pimples," Ron said, grimacing after Harry's last desperate suggestion. "C'mon - there's got to be a girl somewhere who's not taken -"

Hermione was absolutely disgusted with them. At lunch she went in search of George - who was, amazingly enough, in the library, his nose buried in a book; he was hastily scrawling notes of some sort, but Hermione, tilting her head, could not read his messy print.

"What are you doing?" she ventured instead, taking a seat next to him. George made a faint noise in his throat and pushed the book aside so that she couldn't get a close look at it.

"Working. I think I'm on to something here - something you want, Hermione?" He said this without looking up.

Hermione watched him, bemused; he was in one of his moods, and she knew that, try as she might, he would not pay full mind to anything else until whatever idea he had was completed. She knew their regime: it was more often than not Fred who had the brilliant idea, but George was the mastermind who fleshed it out into being, who could work through the details to find what wasn't working properly and fix it. They each had their own kind of brilliance, but without the other, half of the awe-inspiring products they had come up with wouldn't exist.

She sighed, "I was wondering if you had a date to the Yule Ball yet."

"No, why?" said George without looking up.

"You need one - you're a champion!"

"Yeah, I'll get around to it." George squinted at a line in the book and muttered something under his breath.

"George," Hermione sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose - she hated feeling like she was the only one who actually had a brain around here, sick of having to herd everyone else to what they were supposed to be doing. She ignored the fact that she herself had yet to find a date. "It's the last day of term. When, pray tell, are you going to ask someone?"

"Later. Got a few more important things to finish up first. I can always ask Alicia, went with her last time."

Hermione snorted, opening her mouth to reply - George cut her off.

"I've got it all under control, all right? A little patience, 'Mione - we've still got loads of time." George reached over and squeezed her hand slightly before returning his attention to his research. Hermione glanced at him, her mouth still slightly open, and settled for a long huff of breath.

She got up and left the library a moment later, fed up with the male population in general.

* * *

><p>When she entered the Great Hall, she found the last stragglers of the diners; Harry and Ron had gone off somewhere, and instead Hermione sighted a familiar redhead. She smiled slightly and dropped into a seat beside Ginny Weasley.<p>

"Hi, Ginny."

"Oh, hey, Hermione," Ginny said brightly. "If you're looking for Ron and Harry, they just left - looking for you, actually."

Hermione shook her head ruefully. "Those two drive me crazy," she sighed. "Can you believe neither of them worked up the nerve to ask anyone yet?"

For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of hope in Ginny's eyes. "Oh, really?" she asked, amused. "Sounds just like my brother."

Hermione nodded, but her mind had suddenly flashed back to another matter. She remembered clearly how Harry, in a last act of desperation, would ask the Patil twins to go out with him and Ron; and neither had wound up enjoying themselves very much with their non-dancing partners. On the other hand, she was not blind to the obvious attraction Harry and Ginny had had to each other in their last school year - and then during those war-free months, when he had finally felt she was safe enough in Voldemort's absence to actually maintain a steady relationship.

"Are you going with anyone, Ginny?" she asked abruptly.

"Well, third years can't go on their own," Ginny said a bit glumly. "I'd love to, though - Mum bought me some dress robes this summer, they're much nicer than Ron's." She forced a bit of a wry smile.

"Well, why don't you go and ask someone?" Hermione said carefully. "You never know - maybe they're just too nervous to ask you themselves..."

Ginny's face went scarlet. "I ... he wouldn't want to," she mumbled, turning her attention to her knife and fork. "I'm just ... just Ron's little sister to him..." She stopped short with a sharp intake of breath as if she had just realized what she'd said; Hermione raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"Just ask him," she encouraged. "You won't regret it. I promise."

"Ron would kill me," Ginny said automatically.

"Not if you can find him a date," Hermione suggested shrewdly. She wondered if she would have been this devious if she hadn't grown used to living with Fred and George. "Just think about it, Ginny ... surely you know someone who would go with him ... he's a much better dancer now..."

"I find that hard to believe," Ginny said dryly.

"You'll have to come to see it, then," Hermione winked, and stood up, deciding she'd best get to Potions early; they had a test on antidotes today. As she left the Hall, she spared a glance back and noted Ginny staring very thoughtfully after her, a familiar determined crease forming in her brow.

* * *

><p>When Fred and George stepped into the Gryffindor common room, they were greeted with a very odd sight indeed: their younger brother was huddled in the far corner, ashen faced, with Ginny and Harry on either side; as they watched Ginny patted Ron on the arm sympathetically. The room around them was deserted, everyone else basking in the freedom of the winter break with an excellent dinner.<p>

George glanced at Fred, who raised an eyebrow; what, indeed. Together they traipsed over to the corner, Fred taking the seat opposite to them.

"What's got your goat, Ron?"

Ron shook his head; he seemed unable to speak.

"He asked Fleur Delacour to the ball," Ginny offered in form of explanation.

"Oh," said Fred, while George covered a loud cough, "well, she didn't say yes, did she?"

Ron shook his head again.

"He kind of ran away first," Ginny said, fighting off a smile with difficulty.

"I don't know what I was thinking..." Ron mumbled hoarsely. "I just saw her and - and it kind of slipped out..."

"Meaning he yelled it across the Entrance Hall," Ginny offered helpfully. Fred grinned wickedly.

"Well, don't worry, Ron," Harry said glumly. "I didn't get a date either ... I asked Cho, but it turns out she's going with Cedric Diggory."

"That Hufflepuff bloke?" said Fred. "Well, we could always off him for you, Harry..."

"That won't be necessary, Fred," said George rather quickly. "I'm sure there are plenty of other - ah - more available girls around here."

"Speak for yourselves..." muttered Ron. "I suppose you've already gotten your dates?"

"Come to think of it," said Fred. "We should probably get started on that sometime soon."

"You mean you haven't...?" Ron said, brightening slightly. "C'mon, Harry, there's got to be loads of girls who'd rather go with us than them. Or ... or, hey, Hermione's a girl, one of us should ask her...!"

"Er -" George put in.

"I know someone who'd go with you," Ginny said very suddenly. Everyone looked around at her; Ginny's ears went slightly pink.

"Really? Who, then?" Ron said earnestly.

"Just a friend of mine," Ginny evaded, her eyes going to Harry. "I think I know someone who'd like to go with you, too, Harry - if you want, that is..."

"That sounds brilliant," said Harry, looking as if Christmas had come early. Ginny lowered her eyes to her lap and became very interested in her fingernails.

"Well, that's that resolved," said Ron, his shoulders considerably looser as he glanced around the room.

"What about us?" said Fred, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll live," Ron dismissed, still searching the common room for something. "Hey - you guys seen Hermione? She's not been here since Potions..."

But just then they were distracted by the arrival of a dark-haired witch. "There you are, Fred, I've been looking everywhere for you," Angelina Johnson said crossly.

Fred grinned at her, "You know us, places to go, people to see, stuff to sell..."

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Well, I've heard you two still haven't found yourselves dates yet, so just in case you ever decide to work up the nerve, I'll give you my answer."

"Ah, that would make the decision a lot easier," nodded Fred sagely.

"What decision?" Angelina was looking at him, a bit annoyed. "I'm the only girl you've gone out with. We've been together since third year."

"Hang on a sec," George intervened, looking between the two of them with a little panic. "I thought you agreed to see other people - I thought you were into that McLaggen kid..."

"Ugh, don't mention _him_," said Angelina, shuddering. "And don't worry, George, I can find you someone. Lee asked Alicia at lunch, but I think Patricia might be free..."

"Thanks, but no -"

"I'll consider it," said Fred, with an air of great thought. "Mind, the idea of going solo was mighty appealing, but for you I might renounce it."

"Great!" said Angelina, beaming. "You let me know when you make up your mind." And without waiting for a response she leaned forward, catching his surprised face in one hand and planting a kiss full on his lips. She then turned and hurried away to the girls' dormitories.

"Women ... they're scary when they're older..." Ron muttered to Harry in the background. George had been frozen, staring at Fred with horror written across his face; he jolted out of his stupor when they heard a loud thump behind them.

Hermione Granger, who had just stepped through the portrait hole, had thoughtlessly dropped her heavy schoolbag on the ground; her eyes were wide and suddenly filled with tears.

"Shit..." George breathed. She had seen everything; or at least enough to deduce what had happened.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron called, "guess what? Harry and me -"

But he didn't get to finish; just as abruptly Hermione turned on her heel and ran for the still open portrait hole, tears running down her cheeks.

George swore again, loudly, and, stooping, grabbed the bag she had left behind; he then plunged after her, ignoring Fred and the others stunned in his wake.

"Hermione, _wait_!"

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>And thus the plot thickens ... again. Please review!<p> 


	11. The Girl from the Lake

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: The last scene here gave me a bit of trouble ... It is a flashback, but if it seems rather unclear or at all confusing please let me know.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10 - The Girl from the Lake<strong>

The door slammed jarringly behind her as Hermione ran into the library; ignoring the reprimanding stare of Madam Pince, she turned and ran between the shelves sagging with heavy volumes. She was nearly blind with tears now, ignorant to where her harried footsteps were carrying her; she didn't care anymore, not for anything.

She had lost. It wasn't enough to come back in time for him, to try to save his unknowing life; it wasn't enough to love him so much, it hurt to see George in front of her instead of Fred; it wasn't enough for her to be carrying his child... It wasn't enough of anything for him to even notice she was _alive_...

Hermione collapsed into a chair and dropped her head onto her arms, her shoulders shaking with each struggling, sobbing breath. She wasn't good enough; she had done absolutely _everything_ and she still wasn't good enough...

She tensed as a hand fell, gently, on her shoulder. "You all right?" a quiet voice asked.

Hermione raised her head sharply; her eyes widened to notice the table she had chosen was piled with books, someone's fur-lined winter cloak flung over the chair next to her. Slowly, fearfully, she glanced up into the solemn dark gaze, and her heart gave a flip to recognize Viktor Krum.

Tears sprung to her eyes once more. It was him - the one she had been striving to avoid since the lake incident, in fear that he might ask her to the ball; a load of good_ that_ had done her...!

"Here." Viktor rummaged in his cloak pocket and unfurled a handkerchief, passing it to her. Hermione eyed it suspiciously; it smelled like lavender.

"One of the Hogwarts girls gave this to me," he said with a short, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think you are needing it more than me."

"Yes ... thank you." Hermione gulped and dabbed at her eyes. She was sure she looked like an utter mess right now, but nevertheless Viktor drew out his chair and sat next to her, watching her for a long moment.

"You are the girl from the lake," he said at last when she had dried her eyes.

"Er ... yes, I am," she said, eyes lowered, her cheeks beginning to burn again.

"I see you there, every day," he went on. "That is vhy ... that is vhy I liked to train there. You are very beautiful, sitting there by the vater."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to that; her heart was pounding. She didn't want to turn him down; she really didn't.

"Vat is your name, girl from the lake?"

"Hermione Granger."

Viktor's brow furrowed. "Herm - Hermy -?"

"Her-my-oh-nee," she repeated, giggling a little at how this was the last place she would have expected to find herself, explaining her name to a man she hadn't expected to talk to again.

"Hermy-own-ninny," Viktor repeated solemnly, and Hermione shook her head slightly, grinning.

"We'll go with that."

Viktor glanced in both directions as if making sure his always-present fan club was out of earshot; in any case, Hermione hadn't heard them whispering behind the shelves as of yet, for which she was glad; she didn't want them to see her like this and find even more reason to despise her.

"Hermy-own-ninny," he said seriously, leaning closer to her, "I am vondering if you ... if you vould consider going to this ball vith me."

"Oh..." Hermione said, very quietly, as her heart sank. "..._Oh_."

"Hermione!"

She glanced up to see George making his way toward her across the library, panting as if he had just run there from across the school. "_There_ you are..." He trailed off, sighting Viktor with her, and the color drained from his face.

Hermione's eyes stung with tears again; beside her Viktor got to his feet. "Hermy, is this the one who make you cry?" With his dark gaze and hunched figure, he was quite menacing; George threw his hands in the air.

"Hang on, I didn't make her cry!" he argued. "Hermione - Hermione, are you -?"

But she shook her head, tears spilling again. "I - I can't do this anymore -!"

"Hermione," he began, and then sighed; he trooped around the desk and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing her head to his chest. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I tried to stop them, really, I did."

Viktor was staring at them, sudden comprehension in his dark eyes. "You are Hermy's boyfriend?" he asked George.

George stiffened; "No, no, I'm not - we're just friends."

"Ah. I see," said Viktor, but suddenly his shoulders seemed to slump a little more. "I am sorry to have hurt you like this. I vill go."

"No - no," Hermione said, raising her tear-stained face again, "it's not your fault, Viktor, really, it isn't -"

Viktor offered a nod to George and said, very quietly, "Goodbye, girl from the lake. I hope to see you again someday, maybe."

And without another word he collected his cloak and slouched off; Hermione sniffed and buried her head in George's robes, howling all the more.

"I - I can't do _anything_ right -!"

"Hush," George said gently, running a hand through her hair. "This is all just a misunderstanding, all right? I'll deal with Fred. Don't worry, 'Mione, I'll get the two of you back together if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

><p>George's gaze was stormy as he slammed the dormitory door behind him. He glanced around the darkened room once; the others were still downstairs, but Fred had his back to him, rummaging in his trunk. George waited a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, knowing full well his brother was aware of his presence.<p>

"Hey, George, we've already got half a dozen requests for Canary Creams tonight. Want to give me a hand with the sales?"

"Why the hell did you do it," George said flatly.

Fred glanced up, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowed at the animosity in his twin's voice. "Why did I do what?"

"Agree to going with Angelina, what else!" George growled, tossing aside his bag with an audible thump and settling on the edge of his bed, glaring at him. Fred straightened.

"Seriously, George, what've you got against Angie?"

George bit the inside of his lip - his reasoning, that she had taken to pursuing him after Fred and Hermione started going out, even after he repeatedly told her he wasn't interested, wouldn't really get him anywhere; and so he remained stonily silent.

Fred sighed and dropped the bag of Canary Creams on his bed, venturing over to his brother. "Listen, George, I get it. I know you were jealous last year, and yeah, I admit, it really cut into our own time. But can't you give her a second chance, at least?"

"God, Fred, that's not it - how can you be so bloody _thick_ sometimes?" George snarled, raking his hands through his hair.

"Well, then, what is it?" Fred said impatiently.

"What about Hermione Granger?"

"What about her?" Fred repeated incredulously, staring at George as if he had gone mental.

"You seriously haven't noticed? She's liked you since this summer, maybe even before."

"Her? Come off it," Fred snorted, "she most definitely does not."

"You saw her, Fred! I know you like her!" He was shouting now, too furious to do anything else; Hermione was his friend and she had been crying because of _him_ - for more reasons than one, granted. She'd suffered enough already on her own; George swore never to see her cry again, and especially not on Fred's behalf.

"It wouldn't make a bloody difference if I liked Hermione Granger, all right?" Fred snapped back, "Because we both know who she fancies and it's certainly not _me_!"

"Wait ... _who_?" said George, too taken aback to yell again.

"Bloody hell, George, it's _you_!"

"..._What_?" George said, certain he had heard him wrong. Fred threw his hands in the air.

"How many times have you two been whispering together when you thought no one was looking? She's always watching you - she looks at you this way she doesn't look at Ron, or Harry, or me, it's so bloody obvious! ...And I don't even _want_ to know what you were doing when you were sneaking off together. So stop telling me _I'm_ the one in denial, all right?"

Breathing hard, Fred snatched up the Canary Creams and marched off; George heard the echoing slam of the door behind him. He sat for a moment, dazedly staring at the wall.

_That's impossible ... there's no way Hermione likes me in _that_ way..._

He could see where Fred was coming from: they had definitely been a lot closer than usual these past two months, but with good _reason...!_ No, hadn't he seen, from the first suggestion of altering the future, how ardently she loved him? She was carrying his future child for Merlin's sake...

But then the memory of the scene in the library prickled at his mind. Viktor Krum had thought the same thing, too, hadn't he? Maybe he was the only one blind to what was going on here...

_No. _George shook his head to clear it, flopping back on his bedspread and staring bleakly at the ceiling. "It's not true..." he mumbled. "It can't be..."

But for the first time, he wondered if he honestly was helping her for his brother's sake or for something else entirely.

* * *

><p>Breakfast on Saturday was noisier than usual; it seemed no one above third year had left school for the holidays, and so the Great Hall was packed with students merrily chattering about the ball a week away.<p>

Hermione prodded at her toast without much feeling; she would have skipped the meal entirely if it weren't for Ginny dragging her down, now very eagerly retelling how she had yesterday asked Harry out.

"...I told him I knew someone who might go with him," she concluded, blushing slightly. "Oh, Hermione, it _worked_ ... Thank you _so_ much..."

"You're welcome," Hermione said gloomily. It seemed this time around she would be the only one without a date; how different things had seemed when it had been Ron and Harry...

She surmised she would have done better to accept Viktor's offer, anyway, and wondered if he would still agree to go with her after she had exploded into tears on him. It wasn't a very encouraging impression; she grimaced at her toast. For some reason, she was craving to put pickles on top of the finely layered jam and it was seriously annoying her.

There was an outbreak of whispers around her and Ginny just then, but she stonily ignored it; a moment later Ginny nudged her side and Hermione was forced to look up; George was headed toward them.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, offering a nod. "Hi, Ginny."

"Hi," they echoed, Hermione returning to poking at her toast. She really wanted those stupid pickles.

"Er - I was wondering if I could have a quick word," George said to her back. Hermione considered, and then with a sigh raised her head.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to apologize for mucking things up, before," George said quickly, seemingly aware that every eye at the Gryffindor table was on him. "And I was wondering if - well - if you'd go to the Yule Ball with me."

Hermione blinked slowly; she glanced at Ginny, wondering if she had heard him right, but Ginny returned her round-eyed stare. She swallowed hard.

"Erm," she said intelligently. "But what about...?" She searched his gaze, but George, it seemed, was completely serious; he reached out and clasped her hand.

"I want to make it up to you," he said. "Please."

"All right, yes," Hermione said very quietly. She blinked, knowing the tears were coming again and hating that fact.

"Excellent then," George said, his tone a bit uneasy now; he straightened. "I'll see you then." Just like that he was headed back to where Fred and Lee were sitting, his head high. Hermione stared at her hands in her lap, wondering what she had gotten herself into this time.

* * *

><p>There was only one more thing to do.<p>

George cornered Viktor Krum in the library; it appeared he actually was working on something, poring over seventh year Transfiguration manuals with his brow furrowed.

George confronted the usual fan club hidden behind the shelves, giggling and watching him; he shooed them away with various threats of the now-famous Canary Creams, and thus satisfied he was alone, he approached Viktor.

The Durmstrang teen glanced up, his brow furrowing at the sight of him. George grinned and raised a hand in a wave. "Hey, it's me again. Listen ... Hermione sent me to apologize for the other day, since we all got off a bit on the wrong foot." He held out his hand. "I'm George Weasley."

Viktor eyed his hand a moment warily and then shook it. Still grinning, George hooked a nearby chair with his foot and sat down beside him.

"Hermione really didn't mean to react like she did earlier ... You see, she likes you, but only as a friend, you know? And she's scared that if she goes to the ball with you, you'll think she's only into you for your fame."

Viktor nodded slowly. "But Hermy-own-ninny is not like that ... she is very nice girl..."

"A very nice girl," George agreed solemnly. "She's already going with someone else, herself, but she had the idea last night that a pretty nice guy like you shouldn't be stuck with the sort of girl who'd goggle at you from behind a bookshelf. So, we found you someone to go with."

Viktor looked thoughtful. "Then vho is this girl?"

George grinned. "She's a Quidditch player herself, so you'll have loads to talk about. She plays Chaser for Gryffindor. Let's see ... she's quite pretty, she's smart, and definitely a strong willed player. Heck, I've seen her fly loops around players twice her size..."

"And you vill be introducing us?" Viktor asked with interest. George's grin widened.

"I can tell you where she is right this second. All you have to do is ask her."

"Vhy vould you be doing this for me?" Viktor asked suspiciously. "Ve are opponents after all."

"I'm just doing a friend a favour," George smiled, patting him on the arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

><p>Six o'clock on Christmas Day found Hermione seated by the tall dormitory window, watching the snow spiral downward beyond the frosted glass. Down below, on the white-blanketed grounds, she knew the Gryffindor boys were still enrapt in their rowdy snowball fight. She had chosen to watch the unfolding war instead of joining in, only laughing when the Weasley twins made several mad dashes from the cover of their snow bunker, attempting to drag her back as a hostage. On their last attempt, Ron, catching on, had retaliated by landing a large snowball to the side of Fred's head, and thus the twins retreated empty-handed once more.<p>

Now, curled against the sill, bare feet tucked beneath her, the folds of her periwinkle gown splayed around her perch, Hermione sighed softly and - in aimless habit - her right hand closed over her left, her fingers tracing the imaginary shape of the ring on her fourth finger. How ironic that she'd never worn it very long for him at all: a few days, a week ... she'd removed it for the funeral ... and then it took on a different significance. Ron's offer had been abrupt, to say the least; but even though he awkwardly confessed he had liked her for a long time, even after he knew she'd never return his feelings, he explained that, above all, he wanted her to have someone to talk to, someone to rely on, especially then.

Hermione still wondered, now, if she had made the right decision. Her guilt intensified when she recalled the raw pain in George's tone when he had questioned her; then, she had rationalized, she was taking the most logical step; she couldn't think of her own broken heart, but of the needs of her unborn child, whose mother had no home to speak of, no job, unfinished schooling, and no family who remembered her name. In the end, she determined, she wasn't ready to face this alone. Perhaps she had been selfish to think that way at the time; but so, too, had she thought George selfish for his refusal to move on.

She shook her head to clear it, brushing back the loose tumbles of her long hair. Across the dorm, she could hear Parvati and Lavender whispering and giggling to one another through the open washroom door, busily styling their hair for the approaching ball. They had promised Hermione her turn in a moment, leaving her to her thoughts and the snow fluttering outside.

Hermione closed her eyes. The darkening sky outside reminded her of a long-past spring evening standing out on the rickety porch of Shell Cottage, staring up at the brilliantly glimmering stars. In a moment she was there again: the light breeze teasing her hair, the rough wood railing beneath her folded arms, the warmth of Fred standing at her side, a tense knot of feeling in her stomach. That had been their last night at the cottage, standing on the threshold of war, and though they had kept their plans clandestine from the others Hermione was haunted by the thought of what lay ahead in the morning, at Gringotts in Diagon Alley.

She knew her silence on the matter frustrated him; earlier he had pulled her aside and told her, in utter solemnity, that if they needed help - whatever they were doing, he was ready to come with them. Hermione refuted him, for she had promised to tell no one else of the remaining Horcruxes and she knew, in her heart, that he belonged there, with the rest of the Weasleys, with George.

And so, in the rare moment alone under the stars with the quiet lap of waves on a distant, dark shore, she expected him to confront her again about their mission. He did; he spoke without immediately looking at her, gazing toward the omnipresent stars. "We don't know what'll happen. None of us do. 'Mione, who knows how much longer this'll go on, or what'll be left in the end."

Her breath caught in her chest, for he had now turned toward her, clasping both her hands in his roughened own. "Look ... I just don't want you to be alone. Even if you have to go away again, for however long it might be, I want to be with you. I love you, Hermione. I know this is sudden, but I don't know when I'll get my next chance to ask."

With that, he dropped to one knee in front of her; and Hermione in understanding felt her eyes fill with tears. She had answered yes almost before he finished the question, and Fred was laughing - laughing with overwhelming relief and a haunted note that had possessed him since the start of the war - as he presented her with the simple ring.

Now, as snowflakes slowly obscured the windowpane, Hermione felt her throat tighten and the tears threaten her eyes. Why was she going through this again? Right now, haunted by the echo of his laughter, she was all too tempted to crawl into the inviting warmth of her bed, draw the covers over her head, and remain in that security until it was all over: she wouldn't have to go to the ball, to have her heart break all over again to see him with another woman...

Pulling herself sharply from those thoughts Hermione stood, irritably scrubbing away the coming tears. How had she ever deluded herself the first time around that the Yule Ball was a good idea? Distractedly she paced to the floor-length mirror, fussing with the straps of her dress. She frowned at her pasty reflection, folding her arms self-consciously. God, she felt fat; and though she knew in her head it was only her imagination, tears stung anew at her eyes at the notion. If George, who was right now just about her only trusted confidant, was only going with her out of pity, she was terrified of what everyone else thought of her...

"Hermione," Parvati's singsong voice drew her abruptly from her musings, and she turned to see the girls emerging from the bathroom, Parvati with a hairbrush in one hand and a drier in the other. She was in a considerably cheery mood at the thought of her date with Dean Thomas; Lavender, meanwhile, was going with Seamus. Both girls were breathless and beaming, looking beyond their years in their crisp makeup and judiciously pinned hairstyles, and Lavender's bare shoulders and collarbone sparkled with body glitter. "Your turn!"

Hermione sighed, giving her dress a last adjustment before resigning herself to her fate, crossing the chamber into the girls' waiting grasp. As the date of a champion, she mused, she didn't particularly have a choice in the matter. As Parvati smiled and directed Lavender toward the hairspray, she wryly settled on the one positive prospect ahead.

At least she knew he could dance.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Note: If Hermione starts to seem a bit too emotional and OOC in here or the next few chapters, please remember she's rather hormonal at the moment. She's trying, really. :)<p>

Please review!


	12. Holiday Hoax

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

Author's Note: There's a longer chapter today! ^^ I had some fun with this one.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: Holiday Hoax<strong>

George stared at the purple candy in his fist, his heart pounding a mile a minute. It had taken him less than thirty minutes to prepare it; he well enough knew the recipe by heart now. Now all that mattered was his playing the part convincingly. Considering Fred wouldn't think of the things for another half year, George considered his rate of success quite high.

He heard the creak of the dormitory door and, without a second's hesitation, choked down the Fever Fudge. The effects were instantaneous: a shiver ran down his spine as it felt as though the room had suddenly plummeted a dozen degrees in temperature; his throat burned and he coughed roughly, staggering out of the washroom.

"Fred?" he croaked, searching out where his brother and Lee were talking in between pulling on their dress robes. "Fred ... I don't feel so good..."

Fred glanced over at him, eyebrow cocked. "It's called cold feet, George. Now, c'mon, you're a champion, you've got to go dance."

"I've not got cold feet," George sniffled as the full effects of the candy took their toll. His stomach was churning; he sank down on the edge of his bed and curled there with his arms clamped over his sides, relieving the pain somewhat. "I really don't feel well..."

Fred, apparently noting how he had gone pale, stepped closer to him and pressed his hand to George's forehead; he withdrew almost immediately. "You're burning up," he reported incredulously. "Blimey, what did you do, jump naked in a snow bank?"

George cracked a smile at that mental image, but then moaned again, clutching his stomach. "I ... I can't go like this," he said miserably.

"Well..." Fred glanced around at Lee, appealing for help with his gaze; their best friend shrugged.

"You could go see Madam Pomfrey if you hurry, she might not be down at the ball yet."

"Don't wanna move," George whimpered, still clutching his stomach. "Oh, God, Fred, it _hurts_..."

"Well, maybe you ate something wonky," Fred said quickly. "Listen, you just lie down for a bit and I'll go find Madam Pomfrey, all right?"

George caught his wrist as he made to leave. "There's not enough time," he whispered quickly. "I ... I think I'll be all right, if I stay here..."

"You lousy git, if it hurts that much then I'm getting you help," Fred said crossly.

George closed his eyes. "No, you're probably right, it's just something I ate; I did have that weird French pudding at lunch..." He reopened his eyes, pleading with his brother. "Fred ... you're doing the second task ... can't you go in my place?"

"That's not going to work any more, you prat," Fred said irritably. "Look, both ears! One glance and it's a giveaway."

George made an impatient noise in his throat and retrieved his wand. "Come closer."

"You're sick," Fred said, eyeing his wand warily. "I don't want you deliriously setting my hair on fire -"

"I'm not going to set your hair on fire," George grumped. "_Agrandio_." There was a warm glow of light and suddenly Fred's hair was growing longer, now nearly brushing his shoulders; his ears were completely curtained by hair. George quickly did the same to himself and smiled smugly, it being more of a pained grimace in reality.

"There - happy? We're identical again."

Fred checked his new look in the mirror, uncertainly brushing a hand through his hair. "I look like a girl," he said crossly.

"Yeah, that's what I was going for," George said sarcastically. "Now - _please_, Fred, the champions have to open the ball and everything, and I swear if I try to move now I'll throw up."

"All right, all right, I'll open the stupid ball for you," said Fred.

"You'll have to dance with Hermione," George went on; at Fred's incredulous look he mumbled, "she's my date ... you told me to, after all ... just ... just pretend to be me. You can't muck _that_ up, now can you?"

"What about Angelina?" he asked.

"Didn't she tell you, she changed her mind ... she's going with Viktor Krum." George couldn't help a faint triumphant smile.

"What? She didn't tell me anything!"

"Yeah, you also forgot to tell her you were going with _her_," George muttered. "So, you're even. You guys better hurry, don't want to be late."

Lee cast a glance at his watch and cursed; it was much closer to eight o'clock than either of them had thought. The duo dressed hastily and made for the door, Fred running back at the last instant to grab his wand.

"Good luck," George said from where he had crawled beneath the welcome warmth of the blankets, knees to his chest. Fred grunted in reply; the door slammed behind him and Lee, and the dormitory fell into blissful silence.

"You're going to need it," George added under his breath and swung out from under the covers; he removed the second half of the fudge from his pocket and swallowed it down. Once he was no longer feeling sickly he dove for the trunk at the foot of his bed, grabbing a quill, a bit of scribbled parchment, and a large amount of stolen potion ingredients, which he all stuffed into his bag. Lastly he snatched up a silky cloak he had nicked from Harry's trunk earlier when the others were busy with their snowball fight.

Then remembering at the last minute he ran back to his bed, grabbing pillows and various laundry and stuffing them beneath the covers to resemble his sleeping form; then he wrenched the burgundy drapes shut, hoping the others would return late enough to see fit not to disrupt him.

George glanced around the room once, nodded to himself, and draped the Invisibility Cloak about his shoulders. It was time to get started on his own plans.

* * *

><p>Hermione descended the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall already packed with students milling around and waiting for the opening of the Great Hall's doors at eight o'clock. One hand held the hem of her long pale blue dress aloft so as not to trip in her high heels; down below faces glanced up at her and started whispering to their neighbours, their eyes following after her. Hermione felt her cheeks go slightly pink and self-consciously she touched her hair twisted up in a prim knot at the back of her neck. She didn't think she looked much like herself after her roommates had been through with her make-up and hairstyling; she never bothered with it on a daily basis, as it was so troublesome, much to the other girls' chagrin.<p>

She was in the midst of the crowd now, searching out a familiar flare of red hair; she stood on tiptoe trying to look over the heads of a passing group of Durmstrang boys in robes accentuated with fur.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Hermione Granger," a voice said behind her. Hermione turned.

Her breath caught; it was Fred staring back at her with his typical wry smile, his head tilted slightly to the side, his hands in the pockets of his burgundy robes. But his hair ... it was inexplicably longer, now feathering the collar of his robes.

"Your hair..." she began automatically.

"You like it? I got sick of people staring at my ear," he grinned. Hermione nodded, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed that comment. His ear...? Why would anyone stare at _Fred's_ ear?

"So," he said, glancing around, "suppose we should join the other champions and all..."

"Er - right," said Hermione, still staring at him in confusion. It was plainly Fred - stubbornly, she knew her Fred when she saw him - so why was he pretending to be George...? Where _was_ George, for that matter? He was supposed to be her date, after all - Fred was going with Angelina -

They drifted across the Entrance Hall, passing groups of girls in their long gowns chattering to one another and other couples arm in arm. Hermione smiled to see Harry standing with Ginny, looking absolutely bewildered by the lovely young woman standing beside him in a scarlet dress, a slight, shy smile in place; next to him was Ron with a very similar look of shock, but his eyes were directed to a blonde with white flowers twisted into her braided hair, dressed in a silvery gown.

Hermione suppressed a grin; Ginny's companion was none other than Luna Lovegood. She was staring at Ron with her large eyes like moons, saying something - probably about another one of her magical creatures. Hermione moved on.

And then she had another shock: Viktor Krum, who had previously been her own date, was deep in conversation with Angelina Johnson, who looked stunning in a dark velvet dress. The Gryffindor Chaser was absolutely beaming, eagerly describing some Quidditch manoeuvre to him, while Viktor nodded sombrely.

Hermione glanced sideways at Fred, who had tensed slightly, but moved past the duo without comment. Whatever was going on here...

And then it hit her; it was just so bizarre that only George could have manufactured it so well... To ask her out, then to ensure he was unavailable at the last minute; he was a champion, so Fred had no choice but to go along in guise of him ... and to occupy both persons who would have otherwise gone with them...

George was a _genius_. Hermione made a mental note to give him her heartfelt thanks later. She held her head high as she and Fred moved toward the grand oak doors.

Soon Professor McGonagall - in ruby tartan robes with a wreath of thistles wound about the brim of her hat - came to get them. "Mr Weasley, you and the other champions will wait here as the other students go in," she instructed. "You will enter the Hall in procession when everyone else is seated."

Fred nodded brightly. "Got it."

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione piped up, earning an incredulous double take from Professor McGonagall.

"Ah ... good evening, Miss Granger..." She moved off, looking distracted. Hermione smiled and stood a little taller next to Fred as they waited as sentinels at the door. They were soon joined by Harry and Ginny, who stood across from them; Ginny kept smiling over at them, though Harry's brow furrowed in slight confusion. Fleur Delacour was a dreamlike vision, as usual, in her flowing silver dress; she stood next to Roger Davies of Ravenclaw. Across from them were Viktor and Angelina.

The crowd at last began to stream into the Hall, eager faces shining; Parvati and Lavender waved to her on the way past, beaming, on the arms of their dates; Ron looked a little disgruntled, and did not look her way as he passed with Luna; she caught sight of Lee Jordan in the crowd with Alicia Spinnet, and he winked as he passed. Though she kept an eye out, Hermione was to be disappointed by no sign of George.

Soon the whole group was settled in the Hall: Hermione noticed the long house tables had been whisked away, replaced with dozens of smaller round tables, pale faces flickering in the candlelight as the school turned as one to watch them enter. The chamber had been as marvellously decorated as she remembered, with glistening icicles along the walls and holly and mistletoe webbed across the room; high above them the enchanted ceiling was a velvet night sky twinkling with stars.

Professor McGonagall then gestured them forward, reaching Fleur first and steering her and Roger Davies together; behind them the other champions formed a line, and Fred offered Hermione his arm with a grin.

She allowed herself to clasp his elbow and they followed after Fleur and her date. Hermione's heart was so light, she thought she might start drifting away to the ceiling if she wasn't holding tight to his arm. It was just like a dream: at the moment she could care less who was looking at them; she was with Fred again, and that alone had her heart ready to burst.

Professor McGonagall at the head of their procession led them to the topmost table; there, the other judges were already seated, Dumbledore smiling at them all in robes of rich purple; Madam Maxime applauded politely, dressed in fine lavender silk; Karkaroff alone did not look pleased, and his thick-browed stare rested on Viktor and his date. Ludo Bagman was as excitable as always in a starry robe, smiling as much as any of the students, and in the place of Mr Crouch...

_...Percy Weasley?_

Fred and Hermione noticed the redhead's presence at about the same instant; Fred's arm tensed beneath her fingers and, wildly, Hermione double checked her mental calculations ... Mr Crouch couldn't have been murdered yet ... No, he still had to be under the Imperius Curse, and would be for several more months...

She shook herself from her thoughts, convincing herself she hadn't somehow accidentally upset the timeline thus far, in time to note Percy was staring very pointedly at her companion, then at the seat beside him.

"Hey, Perce," said Fred, with a half-smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes; Hermione certainly knew well enough they weren't on the best of terms, but hoped for the both of them that things would work out better in this timeline. He took the seat Percy none too subtly indicated, but not before pulling out Hermione's own, making her blush.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking her seat.

"What are you doing here?" said Fred automatically. Percy straightened a little in his seat, revealing what seemed to be new navy dress robes; he eyed Fred's own, which were a little frayed at the edges, with a smug sniff.

"I've been promoted," he said, "Mr Crouch's personal assistant. I'm here representing him, as he is unfortunately feeling under the weather."

Fred didn't answer to that, very stonily glaring at the menu on the table in front of him; all around him the others were beginning to place their orders, and with a sigh Hermione amassed her own menu and glanced over it for something appealing.

Percy waited until the others had dissolved into their own conversations over steaming plates of meat and potatoes before lowering his fork and clearing his throat.

"It's no rare knowledge what happened during the first task," he began. "When the article appeared in the Prophet - I daresay your mother would have come here immediately and dragged you back home, if it weren't for the contract binding you to complete the tasks -"

"If you're just here to lecture me, you're wasting your time, Perce. I'm finishing the tasks, no matter what you or Mum or anyone bloody well else thinks," Fred growled, stabbing at his roast. Hermione noted his left hand drifted, unconsciously, to the side of his head, and he flattened his fringe again.

Percy's ears went red. "Now, listen, George," he said in a low voice, "you two have found yourself in a ridiculous amount of trouble before, but you don't comprehend the severity of the situation -"

"Really, I thought I was pretty clear on it," Fred said dryly.

"- you're illegally endangering your life, and for what? Your mother's absolutely frantic, you know! I have no idea what compelled you to put your name in that Goblet -"

"That's something you wouldn't understand, you prat," Fred growled. "Now leave us alone - you're not yelling at Harry, now are you? And he's even younger than us -"

"He didn't lose an ear against his dragon, George!" Percy hissed, shooting an anxious eye around the table, but no one else seemed to be watching their heated hushed argument.

This was escalading quickly; Hermione grimaced and grabbed Fred's arm.

"You're acting incredibly childish, both of you," she snapped. "He's only worried about you, _George_, so lay off him - and Percy," Hermione leaned around Fred to look him in the eye, her voice still in the same brusque whisper. "I've seen with my own eyes how seriously George is taking this Tournament - he's been working nonstop since the first task, practicing spellwork, researching in the library - I have absolute confidence in him to handle the second task. Your brothers aren't children anymore, Percy," she concluded quietly. "You have to accept that they make their own decisions now."

She drew back, a bit amazed by her own speech; both of the Weasleys were speechless, Fred staring at her in awe, Percy still red in the face, his gaze fixated on his plate. What she said was true ... from a certain point of view, that is, Hermione reflected with slight amusement. It wasn't because of the Tournament that George was working so hard lately...

"Well..." Percy said at last, straightening his collar, "I do not mean any offense, of course, Hermione, but I daresay I know their particular ... _manners_ a bit better than you do."

_Do you, now?_ A slight smile played at her lips nevertheless her resolution. However, before she could counter, Percy went on.

"In any case, I sincerely doubt that they will ever see life as more than just a game. While the rest of us," Percy drew himself up sanctimoniously, "have better things to do than to risk our lives for a mere laugh."

Fred made a low growling noise in his throat and his fists clenched. "You take that back, Perce, you take that back now -!"

"George!" Hermione hissed, seizing his sleeve and pulling him away from Percy. "Stop it, honestly! You're making a terrible scene -"

Percy seemed unfazed by the fact that his brother looked ready to jump him. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree for now."

He turned away and started asking Ginny about her school term; Fred, breathing hard, pulled his arm away from Hermione.

"Bloody _git_..." he hissed, glaring at the back of Percy's head. "I swear..."

He didn't know them ... he didn't know them at all... Hermione was suddenly fighting against angry tears; she had tried, hadn't she? She knew Percy would later alienate himself from his family in favour of the power the Ministry offered him, but she hadn't known how deeply the rift already stretched. Oh, _why _couldn't they just accept their differences in opinion and move on already?

A welcome distraction arrived at that moment as Dumbledore rose, his arms outstretched.

"Now that we are all delightfully fed," he beamed, "let the Yule Ball begin!"

The other students stood up at his beckoning, and Dumbledore with a swish of his wand cleared the tables to either side of the room, leaving a broad space for a dance floor; then along the side wall he conjured a low platform armed with miscellaneous instruments, and a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd moments before the Weird Sisters trooped onstage.

Hermione's heart was pounding; she forced the confrontation with Percy from her mind, offering what she hoped was a bright smile to Harry next to her, who had gone pale; _You'll do fine,_ she mouthed, moments before the Weird Sisters struck their first mournful note; and then Ginny stepped forward, grasping Harry's hand.

Hermione quickly shifted her attention back to her own partner; she laid her left hand on his shoulder, the other slick with sweat finding his own; Fred's other hand was on her hip. Under the eyes of the school they moved across the dance floor, Fred leading, her catching from the corner of her eye glimpses of the other champions - of Harry and Ginny moving a bit awkwardly together, of Roger Davies and Fleur smiling at one another - but really, she had eyes only for one man.

They passed close to Viktor and Angelina only once; she shot a very quick glance over and met Viktor's eye, who gave her a slight nod; she couldn't read Angelina's expression. Then Fred led her onward.

The champions were not alone on the dance floor for much longer: two by two couples took to the floor, vibrant dress tails twirling as the girls swung about on the arms of their dates; it was all a sea of color at the back of her mind, Hermione's smile set on the redhead in front of her. Fred smirked slightly in return, sending her into a tight spin on her heel.

All too quickly, it seemed, the last warbling note of the bagpipes rang out; the dancers stopped short and a wave of applause swept the Hall; Hermione, breathless, joined in.

After the momentary pause the Weird Sisters struck up a faster, jubilant tune that shook the hall. The rest of the students swarmed the dance floor and soon they were jumping and swinging about in the tight space in the way that only teenagers could dance. Hermione was nearly pushed into Fred twice by the crowd and, laughing now, abandoned her last attempt at continuing to waltz.

Nearby Harry and Ginny were dancing, she with her hands in the air, Harry a bit awkwardly following her example; Hermione laughed and waved, while Fred shouted, "Nice moves, Potter!"

It was extremely hot. Somehow Lee and Alicia had joined them and were adding in their own crazy dance moves; they were all laughing, no one caring how silly they looked. Hermione grinned along with them, bouncing up and down on her toes.

By the end of the song she was beginning to feel a little light-headed; as the Weird Sisters threw themselves right into another slow song many students filtered from the dance floor, leaving the couples swaying sombrely in time to the music. As Lee and Alicia moved off, arms around one another, Hermione caught Fred's hand.

"Let's sit for a minute," she gasped out, and he nodded in agreement, steering her toward the side wall where several other students were seated about the round tables, drinking Butterbeer.

"Want something to drink?" he offered, and Hermione, breathless, nodded.

"Some water would be nice, thanks."

He squeezed her hand slightly before moving off in search of refreshments.

Hermione, meanwhile, sank into an empty seat beside Ron and Luna, neither of whom she had seen dancing. Luna was staring off at a clump of mistletoe on the wall beside them, a faint smile playing at her lips, her earrings - tonight, by the looks of it, bent Muggle paper clips - glinting in the candlelight.

"Hi," Hermione said, with great relief reaching down and undoing the straps of her high heels - which were beginning to chafe at her reddened toes. She winced, rubbing some feeling back into her feet.

"It sure is hot, isn't it?" she said after a moment spent regaining her breath; Ron still hadn't answered and was staring with extreme focus at the candle flickering on the table in front of them. Hermione frowned slightly; she had been hoping he wouldn't be jealous again. Instead, she turned her attention to Luna.

"I don't believe we've met. Hermione Granger," she smiled.

"Luna Lovegood," the third year Ravenclaw answered, dipping her head slightly. Her earrings jingled.

"Er - nice earrings," Hermione supplied.

"Thank you. They're a charm to ward off Nargles." Luna nodded very seriously and went back to eyeing the mistletoe. Hermione glanced at Ron.

"Don't you want to dance at all?"

"No," Ron said flatly. Hermione, in exasperation, glanced quickly at Luna again pointedly - but the Ravenclaw spoke up in her usual dreamy voice, as if she were only half there.

"I don't mind it much ... I don't like dancing, either, really."

"Oh," said Hermione, the knot of guilt in her stomach loosening a little at that. Luna would later be a good friend, even as unusual as she was, and she really didn't want to have ruined her Yule Ball, indirectly or not.

She was distracted from their awkward conversation, then, by Fred's return; he thumped down a bottle of Butterbeer and a glass of water for Hermione, glancing over at Ron and Luna curiously. Hermione only shrugged when he turned back to her, and they drank in silence. Ron's glare lingered on Fred all the while, until Hermione couldn't stand it anymore.

She leaned over and whispered something to Fred, then looking over at Luna; Fred looked a bit puzzled but he rose anyway and walked over to where the Ravenclaw was staring off into space.

"May I have this dance?" he asked her with a flash of his familiar grin, holding out his hand. Luna stared at it, then at him, as if he was some bizarre creature she'd never seen before.

"Well, all right, if you want to."

She daintily took his hand and the two drifted out onto the dance floor, circling in time to a slower song. In their absence, Hermione returned Ron's withering glare.

"What is your _problem_?"

"He's too _old_ for you," Ron said in disgust, still looking after Fred and Luna. Hermione's face flushed.

"Believe it or not, Ron, someone had the _nerve_ to ask me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You had your chance, too, so stop being so - so _conceited_!"

Ron glared back at her. "Hermione, I grew up with those two, I know what they're like! They can't mean any good for you."

"_Excuse me?_ I can very well decide for myself what's good for me, Ronald Weasley!"

"I just don't want - I don't want you to get mixed up in their sort, it'll ruin your reputation," said Ron, his face now as red as his hair. "I mean, look what happened to Angelina!"

Hermione faltered. "Wha - what happened to Angelina?" she said uncertainly.

"Well, no one said anything outright," Ron said uncomfortably, "but - well, they were all thinking it, everyone knew, last year after we won the Cup she and Fred - well, you know - did it in the locker rooms," he said, his face reddening further.

"He _what_?" Hermione's blood ran cold.

"Well, afterward, when she left him for some fourth year everyone started thinking she was easy, you know? Hermione - you're not like that. You deserve better than that." Ron was now staring at the tabletop.

Hermione's thoughts were elsewhere. It was as though someone had viciously torn out her heart and stomped on it... She tried to convince herself that it wasn't betrayal, it didn't have anything to do with her what Fred and his ex-girlfriend had done ... but that didn't lessen any the pain in her heart.

They had never said anything, not him, not George. It shouldn't have mattered, but suddenly her eyes filled with hot tears again and she stood up without knowing where she was going.

"Hermione -" Ron said, uncertain if she was still angry at him or not; but at that moment Fred and Luna returned, the Ravenclaw's eyes aglow and her shoulders a bit higher.

"Hey," said Fred, noting Hermione on her feet, "shall we dance again?"

She didn't answer him; but very suddenly she whirled around, her hand connecting with his cheek with a sharp snap; then stumbling slightly she hitched up her long skirt and ran barefoot from the room.

Fred stepped back, stunned; his cheek stung and he stared after her in utter confusion; he cast a glance at Ron, who looked a little petrified.

"What the hell did you tell her?" Fred demanded; Ron went back on the defensive.

"I didn't do anything!"

Fred growled faintly but instead of responding picked up the shoes that Hermione had left behind; then he quickened his step, trailing her out of the hall.

"I know what it was," Luna said gravely, returning to her seat beside Ron and plucking the cork from the abandoned Butterbeer, sticking it in her pocket. "It was the Nargles."

Ron, staring after them, agreed.

* * *

><p>Hermione sank to the ground on the steps outside, her head on her arms; she didn't care that the cold wind cut into her trembling bare shoulders or that snow was daintily falling in her hair; hot, uncontrollable tears spilled from her eyes.<p>

"Granger!" She heard the clatter of the grand doors behind her, then the slap of footsteps against stone, but she did not look up even as he settled beside her on the steps. "You all right?" Fred said, cautiously, in case she felt like hitting him again. "Whatever I did, I swear, I didn't mean -"

"I can't believe you," Hermione hiccoughed, at last raising her head and rubbing at her eyes before remembering the hours dedicated to her makeup - a bit of eyeliner smudged along her fingers.

"Hey," Fred said, alarmed, "you're the one who said I should dance with her."

Hermione stared at him a moment, bemused; then she remembered he was still recalling the scene in the Hall and her ploy to talk to Ron alone. "Oh -" She found herself blushing. "- that's not it, not it at all..."

"Then what is?" he pressed. "C'mon, 'Mione, I hate to see a girl cry because of me. I have a reputation to keep and all, y'know."

That made the tears come faster. Alarmed, Fred searched his pockets urgently for something like a handkerchief and swore softly, finding none; instead he placed a hand on her shoulder, awkwardly.

"It was a joke, all right? Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so angry at Percy back there, or ... or, look, I brought your shoes back this time," he said hopefully, setting her high heels down on the step beside her. Hermione didn't react and he sighed, turning away and running a hand through his hair distractedly.

"Hell, Granger, _please_ just tell me what I did wrong."

"No..." Hermione mumbled, now wiping at her eyes. "It's ... it's complicated..."

"We've got time."

She sniffed and stared ruefully at her hands, smudged in makeup. "I look like a mess."

"Not really," he corrected automatically, reaching over and tucking a loose strand of her hair back in place. Hermione's breath caught. "Whatever's bothering you, I promise, I'll try to fix it."

_You can't change the past,_ Hermione thought automatically. But, closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh and told him about another dilemma: about how jealous Ron had been, even though he hadn't worked up the courage to ask her and she wasn't interested anyway; about how Viktor Krum had asked her first, and she had refused him. Fred listened in silence.

When she at last revealed the terrible conflict in her heart, Fred was staring at her in thought.

"You could've gone with Krum," he said slowly. "You probably could've gone with anyone you wanted, really ... Then why didn't you? What were you waiting for?"

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide.

"You."

"_Me_?" Fred laughed shortly; it didn't sound quite right. "Why me, Granger? I mean, I'm nothing special, really ... not nearly as brilliant as you, anyway..."

"Just stop." Hermione pressed a finger to his lips. "That's not true, you know it."

Their faces were so close now; Fred's azure eyes were wide and almost scared. Hermione's heart was pounding. This was it...

The doors slammed behind them. "_What do you think you're doing?_ The ball is almost over - back in the castle, both of you!"

They jerked apart; Hermione squinted in the light emanating from the Entrance Hall, and her face flushed bright red. It was Percy standing there, his wand in hand, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a thin line.

"C'mon, Perce," Fred said angrily, on his feet first. "You're not our mother -"

"Inside," Percy repeated with a motion of his head. Fred shut his mouth, glare back in place, and caught Hermione's hand; she stopped only long enough to grab her shoes before Fred dragged her inside, his head held high. Hermione, her head ducked, spared a glimpse at Percy as they passed; he looked furious. Her heart sank, and she suspected he would be telling Mrs Weasley all about this.

Back inside, the ball was winding down; through the open doors of the Great Hall, she could see only a few couples remained on the dance floor (notably, Harry and Ginny among them), while people were bidding each other goodnight on the staircase. Neither Fred nor Hermione was in the mood to rejoin the dancers; with a firm grip still on her hand he led her upstairs, along the moving staircases, and to the fat lady's portrait.

"Fairy lights," he said curtly, and the portrait hole swung open; they entered.

The common room was deserted, the last embers burning low in the fireplace. In the dim light he at last released her hand and turned to look at her.

"Well," he said, a bit awkwardly, "I hope ... I hope I haven't ruined everything for you..."

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. I had fun." She smiled forcefully.

"Great," said Fred, rubbing his head. "Well, then, er -"

"Yeah," Hermione concurred quietly, wondering why he hadn't acted yet; they were alone, weren't they? A terrible feeling settled in her chest: had she managed to turn him off so much with her torrent of emotions? She stepped a little closer to him, tilting her head up. "Goodnight," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he echoed, "goodnight." And then very suddenly he turned around and was walking away, leaving her standing in the dark.

Hermione gazed helplessly after him, cursing the hormones that again brought a sheen of tears to her eyes. _He didn't even kiss me goodnight..._

* * *

><p>George was sitting in bed reading when he heard the dormitory door open; he leaned over, shifting the bed curtains open, and by the flickering glow of his wand he perceived Fred bent over the bed next to his, loosening his tie.<p>

"Enjoy yourself?" George grinned.

"Feeling better, are you?" Fred answered with another question.

George shrugged. "All right."

"You were right about Angie," Fred said shortly. "She was with Krum ... seemed happy, though..."

"Yeah," said George quietly, hoping he had made the right decision there. "You're not ... too angry with her, are you?"

Fred shrugged, "It's not like we were going out anymore, anyway..." For a while he fussed with his robes in silence, then, having stuffed the dress robes at the bottom of his trunk, glanced over once more at his brother.

"I shouldn't have gone with her, George," he said very quietly. "She's maybe a bit mental, but Hermione Granger's seriously in love, with _you_." Leaving George wordless he turned away and viciously tugged at the drapes, pulling them closed behind him.

George stared a long moment at where his twin had disappeared and shook his head, despairingly. "You're so oblivious, Fred," he mumbled. "So _bloody_ oblivious."

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Please review!<p> 


	13. Desperate Times

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

Author's Note: Hello again, all! First off: apologies for the late update! I have recently discovered that, yes, taking a five course load in university_ is_ as cumbersome as it sounds. Secondly, a big thanks to my new beta-reader, Nymma, for being awesome! And thirdly ... on to today's chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12 - Desperate Times...<strong>

The excited chatter following the Yule Ball did not taper out until January and the start of the new term; by this point, Hermione was quite sick of overhearing girls gossiping over who they had seen snogging whom wherever she went. As well, she had heard Angelina Johnson that morning at breakfast telling everyone excitedly about how she was going flying with Viktor that weekend - apparently their common interest of Quidditch had brought _something_ good out of the twenty-fifth, at least. Even so, the one time Hermione had passed Viktor - trailed only by his most persistent fans, the others given up now that he had shown interest in someone else - he had smiled at her. It seemed he, at least, did not blame her for the way events had spiralled out, and that allowed her to continue with her head held high.

Hermione's moodiness did not pass unnoticed by the other Gryffindor fourth year girls, who had taken to sympathetically pointing out that there were many available men in Hogwarts and that she didn't have to tie herself down with anyone just yet -_ they were only in fourth year, you know, and no one was ever really a couple until at least fifth_ - which, if anything, only annoyed her even more. She didn't really know what to think of what had happened that night, anymore, and for all she wished it would just have not happened entirely; the whole thing was just an unpleasant dream, or someone's cruel idea of a prank.

She tried very hard not to think too much about what had happened, as it had cost her a headache already. Did Fred like her, or not? It was impossible to tell - and since he seemed to have taken to avoiding her recently, as well, it made her stomach tighten in greater knots. She wanted to ask George, she really did, but he, too, had been mysteriously absent - casual inquiries through their friend Lee led her to believe that he'd been sick since Christmas and wouldn't even leave the dorm. When Ron saw her asking this, his gaze turned stormy; but he, too, had seemed to have decided that the Yule Ball had never happened and did not recommence their argument, for which she was very glad.

On her part, it seemed her little problem had taken a relapse: she was now hardly eating at meals, afraid she'd regret it later in the girls' toilets. The churning of her stomach did not lend to her mood.

It was the first day of term; students around the common room were muttering unenthusiastically to one another, covering the occasional wide yawn. Hermione stood by the boys' staircase, bag slung across her shoulder, tapping her foot in annoyance: Ron and Harry were _late _and she certainly wouldn't have them all showing up late to their first Herbology lesson of the term. She was just considering going up there to check on them herself, whether they were appropriately dressed or not, when a familiar figure appeared in the stairwell.

"Hey, Hermione," George greeted, shifting his grip on his own bag. Hermione nodded and smiled quietly at him as some students nearby whispered, having seen them together at the Yule Ball, or so they thought. George's hair was still longer, keeping him virtually identical to Fred unless he purposefully revealed his missing ear; and when he smiled it seemed to be a bit more tiredly than usual, the look not quite reaching his eyes.

"Listen - d'you have a minute? I have something for you."

"Er -" Hermione's eyes went wide, but frustratingly she could not gauge his expression. She settled for a nod and followed him upstairs.

The sixth year dormitory was mercifully deserted; Hermione glanced around curiously, noting it to be even more of a disaster zone than Harry and Ron's dorm. She rolled her eyes slightly at this and carefully picked her way across the strewn clothing and crumpled parchment to where George was stooped over his trunk.

"It's here somewhere," he promised, foraging about; then his lips pulled into a tight but triumphant smile. "Ah, here we go." He rocked back on his heels and stood up, holding out a small vial; he popped out the stopper and held out the potion so that she could observe it. The lavender potion had no odour.

"Made it myself," he said cheerily. "Should help with the little - ah - problem."

"What is it?" Hermione asked warily.

"Well," said George, recapping the solution, "I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's capable of freezing growth - kind of like an anti-ageing potion, I guess. Just take three drops daily and tah-dah ... no one will be any the wiser."

Hermione frowned, considering this. "Is it safe?"

"Should be - I've been testing it on myself all last week."

"Lee said you were sick," she accused.

"Well, yeah. I couldn't let anyone interrupt me, now. All right," he sighed at her exasperated look, "there were some bugs with the first draft, but I've fixed them. I promise. Now ... it should be safe, in the short term, but I can't be positive about the long term effects if you keep using it, say, for years. I've done as much research on the subject as I could. It should be a solution for now, in any case."

"Wait ... how long do you expect me to use this?" she said incredulously, eyeing the anti-ageing solution.

"Well," George took a breath, "how far along would you be now?"

"...Just over two months," Hermione said quietly.

"Right then, you've just got to keep using this until two months after you and Fred - er -" His ears went red; Hermione stared at him incredulously.

"George, you're saying you want Fred to knock me up?"

"Basically, that's the plan, yes..."

"That's absolutely ridiculous!" she fumed. "I would not - I can't do that -!"

"Well, how else are you going to explain it, then?" he said exasperatedly. "You expect people to just take it quietly? Even if you could just say it's some weird magic or something, they're gonna start asking questions if, y'know, the kid looks like a Weasley..."

Hermione bit her lip and stared at the potion.

"So this will stop the pregnancy from advancing for maybe a year or so."

"M-hmm."

She sighed heavily and rubbed at her temples. "God, I'm so going to regret this. But let's do it."

* * *

><p>Weeks passed and the cold January weather continued at Hogwarts. With the Yule Ball now a safe distance in the rear-view mirror, Hermione cheered up a bit; she was also secretly glad that the potion she had been taking every night didn't seem to have any negative side effects thus far, though she kept an eye out. It wasn't that she didn't trust George's judgment, it was just, well ... <em>he<em> wasn't a pregnant female.

With her own burdens considerably lighter, Hermione took to asking Harry about his plans for the second task; the boy promptly groaned, and she was incredulous to learn he had once again neglected to even start on it.

"I've been trying," Harry objected to the look on her face. "I've been opening it, every day, and I've done everything ... asked it questions, shook it, even threw it across the room!"

Ron, who was working on his star chart next to them, sniggered loudly but hastily bent over his homework again. Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Harry, I really wish I could help you right now, but I'm not supposed to help you with the tasks, you know that."

"I know, and I'm honestly trying to work this one out on my own," Harry said earnestly. "I promise, Hermione, I am."

She smiled faintly, glad, at least, for the vehemence in his tone. "Why don't you try taking it with you?" she suggested. "Maybe ... I don't know, maybe a change in environment will affect it..."

She moved off, sighting George just stepping through the portrait hole, leaving Harry just as confused as before.

Hermione fell into step with George as he crossed the room. Fred wasn't with him today; ever since the Yule Ball they had been like this, always separate, and Hermione wondered if it was because of her. George spent a lot of time in the library or in the Room of Requirement, and she didn't know where Fred had gone off to.

"How's it coming with your Egg?" she asked breathlessly.

"Eh? I thought you were the one - oh, right the _golden_ Egg," George remembered belatedly, grinning and scratching his head. "Right."

Hermione set her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you haven't started, either!"

"Oh, I'm working on it. Might be on to something right now, actually," he said vaguely, indicating his schoolbag. "Can't tell you much, though -" he nodded toward where Harry and Ron were watching them keenly. "Don't want them to think you're fraternizing with the enemy, now, do you?"

Those words sparked her memory and she shook her head slightly. "They know I wouldn't," she said automatically, but she knew by now to be wary and raised a hand in farewell. "You keep working on it," she added warningly.

George raised a hand to show he had heard and headed off.

* * *

><p>"Here, I got the books you wanted." George dropped a heavy stack of tomes on the edge of the bed, jarring the mattress several inches lower. Fred glanced up; in front of him a long scroll of parchment was covered in scratch marks. "Anything yet?"<p>

"Vaguely," Fred said unhelpfully, going back to plucking at the feathers of his quill. "I've been trying to think of what it could be - but other than banshees or zombies, nothing's coming to me."

George rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just owl Charlie, that's what I did."

"Nah, he was decidedly unhelpful ... he'd probably say it was zombies and describe the complicated manoeuvres required to behead one, just to freak us out."

"Ah," said George, not altogether convinced. "Well, if it is a zombie you're facing, Fred, a hint: just point it toward someone smarter than you and yell, _'Look! Brains!'_"

"Thanks, Dr Frankenstein."

"You're welcome, my minion."

"...I am not your minion."

George just rolled his eyes, walking away. "Whatever you say, Igor."

* * *

><p>Near the end of January, Hermione had the first chance to talk to Viktor Krum since she had burst into tears that long-past day in the library. She had been on her way there, having finally brushed off Ron and Harry with the claim that she really had to work on that Arithmancy essay, after all; she huffed as she hefted her bag higher on her shoulder, silently thankful that she had remembered that Lightening charm from sixth year; her back suffered enough as it was, these days.<p>

Hermione had only one course in mind as she immersed herself in the library's musty shelves, walking mindlessly along the section she was looking for, at the far back. _Everyday Muggles ... A Non-Magical Life at Home ..._ There it was. Hermione ran a finger along the dusty spines, chewing on her lip, shooting an anxious glance now and then over her shoulder as she pulled a book down here and there, slipping it within her bag.

Voices from around the shelf made her jump, and Hermione froze, listening as the feminine voices quickly grew in pitch.

"But we'd go flying with you any time, you know!"

"Yeah, why did you have to betray us like this?"

Another voice, quieter and deeper, answered; Hermione silently shuffled along the length of the shelf, finding a gap large enough to watch two older Hufflepuff girls crowded around a desk. At that moment the girls shared defeated looks and turned away, marching past where Hermione hid in the shadows. One gave a huffy toss of her blond hair before she and her companion disappeared from view.

Hermione surreptitiously slipped a final book - _Nine Months_ - from the shelf and transferred it to her bag before stepping out into the open, smiling shyly. "Hello, Viktor, I didn't expect to see you here again."

Viktor Krum glanced up from his table loaded with textbooks, his face easing into a smile. "The same, Hermy-own-ninny." He drew out a chair and she perched next to him, curiously looking at his current reading: advanced Transfiguration. An image of Viktor with the head of a shark surfaced in her mind and Hermione fought a smile with difficulty; she cleared her throat.

"Homework?"

Viktor glanced at the open textbook, a sheepish flush creeping across his face as he quickly pushed it aside, out of her sight. "No - it is ... it is ... I am done now."

"It's for the second task, isn't it?" she commented rhetorically, quietly, as he glanced up sharply with a furrow to his thick brow. Hermione giggled at his expression.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Your friend, George, he must be working on it, too."

"Yes, he is," Hermione said, recalling with an internal wince how the last time it had come up between them, George had waved her off with vague reassurances. Whatever he was doing - if anything - she hadn't any idea as to what it was.

She changed the subject purposefully. "So how are you?"

Viktor relaxed; evidently, he had been warned against letting anything slip about the next task. "I am fine. The vinter here is very nice, I think. Mild - that is the word, yes?"

Hermione nodded, "It must be a lot colder, where Durmstrang is."

Viktor nodded slightly, frowning once more, and Hermione realized she was overstepping her knowledge, again. "I've read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_," she confessed quickly, "there's a bit about other magical schools, I'm rather curious, actually. I've never been anywhere other than Hogwarts, and it seems really interesting."

"You vould be careful not to seem too curious," Viktor warned her. "There are ... there are some vho do not agree vith your headmaster, about this cooperation and directness between schools." He stopped, and said quickly, his face coloring, "That is not to say I am one of them, but I cannot do much - Karkaroff vould not have us associate vith foreigners."

Viktor lowered his voice, shooting a cautious look around the library. "I am sorry. I should not be openly speaking wrong of our headmaster to you, but I must varn you to be vary of him. He vas not happy, about the Yule Ball. Vhen he heard I vas still friends with Angelina, he forbid me to speak to her again. He has forbidden me to go flying."

Hermione stared at him. "That's really horrible!"

He nodded, "But that is how Karkaroff is, he is desperate to guard our school's secrets. But I must say this honestly to you, Hermy, that if I had the choice I vould stay here at Hogwarts. It is very nice here, very welcoming, I think, and ve are not forced to learn Dark Arts."

He caught sight of the horror flashing on her face and said, hastily, "But do not tell anyone I say this, the headmaster vould be displeased."

"No. I promise I won't tell anyone," Hermione said bravely. "And ... and I think, if you'll let me ask him, George can help you keep in contact with Angelina. He knows the school better than even any of the professors," she reached across and touched his hand, smiling. "It won't help with Quidditch, I'm sorry, but ... it's something."

"Thank you, Hermy-own-ninny," Viktor nodded, rising and collecting an armful of books. He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. "He is a little odd, your friend, you know."

Hermione glanced up at him. "Odd, how?"

Viktor shrugged. "He is not like most. I cannot describe it." A strange look came over his face and he leaned nearer, asking almost awkwardly, "It did not affect his brain vhen, vell..." He imitated a dragon's horn shearing off his ear.

At that, Hermione giggled. "Oh, no, he used to be worse," she assured him. "This is George acting remotely normal. It's a little scary, actually."

"Ah." They headed for the exit together, carefully sidetracking down the aisles to avoid meeting anyone else. "I saw you together, at the Ball, you know," Viktor said suddenly.

"We're just friends," Hermione said, as she had weeks before, as they neared Madam Pince's desk. She tried to hold her air of nonchalance as Viktor set down his books to be checked out. She reminded herself that she well enough knew the protective enchantments that Madam Pince now removed, nodding curtly to them; she knew she'd done them correctly, there was no way the librarian could sense the half dozen volumes buried at the bottom of her bag, weighting down her conscience.

She forced a smile and was immensely more at ease when the two of them stepped outside the library. They stood a moment, uncertainly looking at one another, Viktor clearing his throat as he shifted his grip on the stack of Transfiguration books.

"I must be getting back..."

"Yes, me, too," Hermione said quietly. "Well ... see you again sometime, maybe?"

"Yes," Viktor echoed. "That vould be nice, though maybe ... maybe vait until after this task is over." He grinned sheepishly at that and inclined his head in recognition before turning away. Hermione hovered, staring after him.

"Make sure to practice your concentration, Transfiguration can be tricky," she said quickly, Viktor stopping short and staring over his shoulder at her, brow furrowed; her heart started to pound. Then he smiled, nodding.

"You make sure George is ready. This time I vill not go soft because he has done me favours."

Hermione smiled back. "And he'll return the favour, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>Harry and Ron had just passed by Hagrid's hut; there was smoke puffing from the chimney, but no amount of knocking or yelling his name could get their half-giant friend to open the door. The boys shrugged at one another; Hagrid hadn't shown his face since the article Rita Skeeter had published about his heritage earlier that month.<p>

Instead they trudged through the snow headed back to the castle. "Shame," said Ron, holding his hood up around his face against the wind, "bet he would've known what that howling was ... probably something like another dragon ... or, I dunno, there's gotta be a monster that sounds like that..."

Harry said nothing. He was glad, at least, he had Ron at his side this time, for he couldn't imagine facing the task alone. They were walking back when they heard shouting down by the lake - Dean and Seamus waved to them. By the slush matting Seamus's hair, they were having a snow war. Harry and Ron angled off to join their fellow fourth years and found the Gryffindors accompanied by Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff.

"Let's get the champion, lads!" shouted Seamus, with zeal collecting another snowball. Ernie's hit Harry in the shoulder as he ducked, and Ron was quickly gathering snow to retaliate.

"No fair - there's only two of us," Harry complained.

"Get 'im!"

Harry ran, stumbling in the deep snow, the other boys charging after him; it was a rematch of the Christmas Day snowball fight, which had been narrowly won by Harry's side against Fred and George's. Seamus was fastest and caught up to Harry, dumping snow down the back of his shirt as he half-tackled him; Harry wound up facedown, spitting out snow, his glasses wet with slush and his bag - heavy with the egg - having fallen away.

"Oh, no -!" someone said above him, and Harry, wiping snow from his glasses, quickly looked up; he was just in time to see the egg roll down the slope and land with a small splash in the lake. His insides twisted.

Ron beat him down to the water's edge where he rolled up his sleeves and fished out the egg. It must have landed on a sharp protrusion, for it had split open, and when Ron hefted it sopping wet into the air a familiar shrill screaming split the air. The Hufflepuffs with muffled yells clamped their hands over their ears, and Ron flinched, hastily slamming it shut.

"It's worse outside," he huffed, hefting the egg now heavier with water. "Here, Harry, I don't think it's broken or anything - shame, actually."

"Hang on," said Harry, who with snow still dripping down his face was struck by a thought. "Put it under again."

Ron looked at him as though he was insane, but did so. The two of them peered at the egg glinting gold beneath the rippling surface. Seamus, Dean, and the others came over to see what they were doing.

"Open it," Harry said.

"It's not going to sound any different -" Ron began crossly, but Harry shook his head.

"Just do it."

Ron opened the egg underwater. The boys crouched there with bated breath, listening in the still afternoon air.

"D'you hear that?" Seamus said at last. "Sounds like ... singing..."

Harry bent closer to the water's surface. He could hear a faint noise coming from the egg, but it was not nearly as loud or as painful as the screaming; in fact it seemed almost ... lulling...

He sat back up and exchanged glances with Ron. Both looked suddenly excited.

* * *

><p>"...<em>Hermione<em>!"

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy studies. Harry and Ron had just plunged into the common room, their robes wet from the melting snow, Ron with the golden egg under his arm; they were followed by Seamus and Dean. "Hermione, the egg - the egg _did_ something!" Ron announced.

"It _what_?" said Hermione, alert, actually pushing aside her homework to investigate the wet egg in his grasp. "What happened, then?"

"We dropped it in the lake, by accident," said Seamus, "and then - it wasn't screaming anymore, it was making this -"

Ron hissed very suddenly at him, for just then Fred and George had trooped out of the boys' stairwell, looking curiously over at their huddle. The boys fell silent, and Hermione tried very hard not to roll her eyes.

"I know what's in the egg," said Fred. "It was obvious, wasn't it, Fred?"

"Yeah..." said George. The two crossed the common room and disappeared out the portrait hole.

"Bloody liars," said Ron vehemently. "They don't know a thing." His eyes shining, he rounded on Hermione. "Tell her, Harry!"

"It was singing," Harry said slowly. "Underwater. I thought it was odd when we couldn't hear it screaming anymore - but listen, it was actually singing."

"What did it say, then?" Hermione pressed, her heart swelling. This hadn't happened last time - things were changing - Harry had figured it out on his own!

The boys glanced at one another dubiously. "We couldn't get close enough to hear it," said Ron.

"Upstairs," said Dean excitedly. "We can put it in the sink - c'mon -!"

The four Gryffindor boys charged upstairs in renewed vigour, Hermione staring after them with a broad grin on her face. Oh, now only if George would figure out what he was going to do...!

* * *

><p><em>"Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground, and while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken what you'll sorely miss,"<em> Dean read off what he had written.

"There's more - hang on." Ron took a deep gulp of air and plunged his head back underwater. Harry, Dean, and Seamus were crowded around the sink, watching him; they could hear the faint rippling sound of the egg's song coming from beneath the surface. Ron had insisted on taking this task, with such vehemence Harry suspected he was trying to make up for the long time he had shunned him prior to the first task.

Ron resurfaced. "An hour long - you'll have to look," he reiterated, panting, "to recover what we took."

Dean nodded, the scratching of his quill filling the silence as Ron dove his head underwater again. They waited, breathless with excitement, Seamus leaning over Dean's shoulder to reread the words again.

"But past an hour - the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back," Ron finished, pushing his sopping bangs back from his eyes. "That's it. Harry ... I dunno what you're facing, but it sounds serious."

"Yeah," Harry said flatly, really not looking forward to facing anything similar to the Horntail.

"So," Dean said, repeating the entire poem for them; the Gryffindors listened in grim silence, Ron quietly dripping and gasping in the background.

"It sounds like they'll be taking something from you," Seamus concluded. "Your most valuable possession, like."

"Yeah, and after an hour, it's gone forever," said Ron, who was looking rather pale now: he was thinking of what would happen if Harry lost his Firebolt. Harry shuddered slightly, but went on.

"We cannot sing above the ground ... so it's something that lives underwater..."

"In the lake!" Dean jumped in. "It has to be in the lake!"

"Brilliant! So, Harry, you've just got to go down to the lake and rescue your most valued possession in under an hour," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"But it won't be that simple ... there's something guarding it ... something that sounds like t_hat_." Harry nodded at the egg still bubbling in the sink.

"What's in the lake?" Dean asked no one in particular.

"The Giant Squid..." said Seamus. They all blanched.

"I don't think it would _sing_, though," said Harry, and they all breathed out a little sigh of relief at that.

"Yeah, that's a bit ridiculous, isn't it," said Seamus sheepishly.

"Well, there's got to be something ... something dangerous ... maybe a kappa?" suggested Dean.

"We could check the Monster Book of Monsters," said Seamus, but no one moved, thinking of the growling and snarling book tethered at the bottom of each of their trunks.

"Or we could ask Hermione," said Ron.

"No, you heard her earlier, she won't help me solve the task," Harry reminded him. He started pacing up and down the tiles. "C'mon ... what's in the lake ... we've walked past there every day on the way to Hagrid's hut ... what's in the lake that sings underwater but screeches above ground?" Harry burst out in frustration.

"Merpeople," said a small voice, and they all whirled on Neville, who had just appeared in the doorway, paling a little as they all turned their incredulous stares on him. "I ... heard stories from my Gran..."

"Neville, you're bloody brilliant!" yelled Ron, making the shy boy's ears go pink.

* * *

><p>When George entered the dormitory, a familiar loud screeching met his ear; he winced, shutting the door softly behind him, and carefully moved across the minefield of random strewn clothes and homework assignments to where Fred was sitting in bed, by the light of his wand reading off a bit of parchment.<p>

"Excellent! Making process on the egg, are we?"

Fred glanced up. George finally noticed the source of the screaming: the egg was lying on the floor across the room, open, with a rather large dent in its side.

"If you count progress as finding out I can chuck it two meters farther than Lee, yeah," said Fred.

George shook his head and stepped precariously closer to the egg. He picked it up and snapped it shut; in the sudden silence his ear was ringing.

"Fred, you have one month to find out what the task is and what you're going to do about it," George said crossly. "I only gave you permission to do it 'cause I thought you'd take it seriously -"

"I _am_ taking it seriously!" Fred protested, sitting up. "It's just bloody _impossible_, George, I've done everything I can think of and it still - won't - bloody - stop - _screaming_!"

"I noticed," George remarked tartly.

"...Right," Fred sighed, his shoulders slumping and shooting his twin a sidelong glance of defeat, "what d'you want me to do about it?"

George measured the egg in his hands thoughtfully. There was still a little of a rusty stain on one side from where he had bled on it. He smiled grimly. "Time to take desperate measures."

_To be continued..._

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><p>And we're coming up on the second task ... ^^ Please review!<p> 


	14. Egg Issues

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: *headdesk* My apologies for the delay. I've had massive writer's block lately for mostly everything I tried to write (even an original fiction I'm currently attempting to finish), so, I'm really sorry I haven't gotten around to updating. On the plus side, the second task should be coming up soon enough. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13 - Egg Issues<strong>

"Ask Hermione," Fred huffed under his breath, "right, like _that's_ going to work." He rolled his eyes and, hefting his schoolbag containing the heavy egg higher on his shoulder, headed off toward the Great Hall for lunch.

Well, George had been decidedly unhelpful in his advice. He was the real champion, anyway; shouldn't he be trying to prevent Fred from failing miserably?

Oh, wait. They _had_ agreed to this. Fred glowered and walked on. He hardly took notice to someone calling his name until a hand closed on his arm. Fred jumped and whirled around to meet Harry's somewhat exasperated, somewhat amused gaze.

"Potter, fancy seeing you here!"

Harry didn't fall for his wild grasp at nonchalance. "Listen, can I have a word?" He glanced over his shoulder down the corridor as if expecting a teacher to swoop down accusingly on him for addressing the Weasley twin. "It's about the task."

"Ah," said Fred. Immediately his mind was racing: how did Harry know he was charged with the second task in George's stead? George was going to kill him -

"I know George's too proud to admit he hasn't figured out the clue yet," Harry rushed on - Fred's shoulders slumped unconsciously -, "and I still need to repay you two for last time."

"Last time?" Fred repeated blankly.

"You dragged me out to play Quidditch," Harry reminded him with a faint grin. "And thanks to you I got my idea to fight the dragon. So I'll give you a clue."

"All right," said Fred. He wouldn't say no to a bit of help at the moment, he thought as a smirk twitched anew at his lips, and hey, he could always tell George that Hermione had informed him.

"Listen - remember when you fell in the lake earlier?"

"As much as it hurt my ego, yes."

"Well ... you should do it again," said Harry.

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Fall in the lake? That's your mighty advice, Potter?"

"...Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, that's plenty helpful," Fred said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," said Harry. "And don't forget, you still owe me five sickles."

He left Fred standing there before he could retort, hurrying to rejoin Ron and Hermione who had just stepped out of the Great Hall. Fred watched the three of them join the crowd of students hastening upstairs to their classes for the afternoon.

Fred then reached inside his bag and stared at the curve of the golden egg there, his brow furrowed. Well, he _was_ growing desperate ... If Potter was just pulling his leg now, he would bloody kill him, Boy Who Lived or not.

* * *

><p>"<em>George<em>!"

Professor McGonagall glanced up with a disapproving frown to see Fred Weasley burst into her classroom, fifteen minutes late and tracking puddles of water across the stone floor. Ignoring the incredulous stares of every student in the room, Fred promptly dove into his typical seat next to his twin and began whispering excitedly to him.

"I've got it - finally figured it out -"

George at the moment seemed much more interested in the wine bottle he was transfiguring into a swan; currently it just had a slightly twisted neck and had sprouted a lot of white feathers.

"It's the lake," Fred went on eagerly, "I have to go in the lake, and find my most precious possession or something - but I only have an hour to do it or it'll be gone -"

"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, sweeping over to their desk and frowning slightly at the puddle he was making on the floor. "As much as I hate to interrupt what is clearly an important conversation, I must ask why you saw fit to be fifteen minutes late to my class." Her nostrils flared slightly.

Fred grinned up at her. "Ah, sorry about that, Professor, it just so happens that I fell in the lake."

Some of the Slytherins on the other side of the room sniggered; a few Gryffindors joined in as well, realizing he was dead serious, until Professor McGonagall's glare silenced them. She drew herself up.

"Very well ... since you seem to have too much time to fool around, you will be writing me an essay on the finer points of object-to-animate transfiguration for tomorrow; and fifteen points from Gryffindor for..." she glanced down at the puddle again and sniffed, "lack of regard for school property." Then she turned and swept away.

* * *

><p>"An essay because I was <em>late<em>," Fred muttered, irritably flipping through a large book in front of him. "Too much time, she says. She doesn't seem to realize I have a task to work out, you know."

"I thought you already figured it out," pointed out George, who was seated across from him and poring over "Fred's" essay. "Shut up, will you, I'm trying to remember this stuff."

"We did it yesterday," reminded Fred. George stiffened slightly but did not reply. "And anyway, I still need a way to stay underwater without dying a horrible death."

"Fred ... do me a favour and don't say that again," George mumbled, and in his distraction Fred missed that he had gone a little pale. Fred shrugged.

"Okay then, what d'you reckon we do?"

"Well," George stopped furiously scratching away at his parchment and tapped the quill against his chin. "There's got to be a way to get you to breathe underwater."

"Oh, hey, I could transfigure myself into some underwater creature," Fred said excitedly.

"...Right," said George dryly. "We don't cover self-animal transfiguration until seventh year, unless you plan on asking McGonagall, and she's not too keen on you right now."

"...Damn it."

"Er, there's got to be a charm for it or something," George pointed out. "Fred, go see if you can get some seventh year Charm texts - and Potions, too, come to think of it."

Fred nodded and moved off among the library shelves. George finished off the essay and read it over critically, hoping he hadn't overdone his slightly suspicious knowledge of the subject, but at the same time ensuring it seemed he had done a little research. He finally nodded to himself, wrote Fred's name at the top, and stuffed it in his twin's bag.

Fred returned, dumping an armful of textbooks on their table. "Here you are, master."

"Oh, no, I already did my dirty work," said George, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "This is _your_ responsibility now."

Fred glared at him. George stared back innocently. After about a minute Fred blinked, losing the staring contest, and with a low oath he pulled the nearest book toward him - Charms - and flipped through the introduction. George smirked, watching him; he knew Fred loathed research - it was always George's job for a reason.

Five minutes later, Fred glanced up at his twin. "You know, brother of mine," he said thoughtfully, "I'm wondering if I could get extra marks for creativity."

George made an indecisive noise in his throat. "Depends what sort of fancy magic you're planning on using."

"Only our own brand of genius," Fred grinned. "What say you we whip up something we can market later - _Fishy Fancies_ or something: breathe underwater and imitate the awesomely handsome Hogwarts champion Fred Weasley -"

"Now that's more like it," said George, grabbing the Potions book and flipping through it, as well. "But it'll be my name on it, you know - remember that."

"...Fine," Fred huffed, but resumed perusing the book for ideas.

* * *

><p>Late in February, a familiar sign-up sheet appeared upon the Gryffindor notice board. Fred had noticed it first - when he went to put up a poster advertising their newest product line - and promptly tackled a sleepy-eyed Lee and George on their way to breakfast.<p>

"Okay. Fred, this energetic in the morning? What're you on, mate?" Lee remarked incredulously as George ducked Fred nearly clipping him about the ear with the Vanishing Hats advert.

"Watch it," he muttered ruefully, "only got one, you know..."

Fred ignored him, grinning in a way that would send most sensible people running for cover while he looped an arm about their shoulders. "Apparition, anyone?"

"Appa-?" Lee began, at once abandoning his sleep-ridden daze. "Already? Wicked, man, sign me up -!"

The three of them ventured back to the notice board, where a small crowd had gathered; at the moment Kenneth Towler was adding his name to the growing list. A few fifth years hung about, wistful.

"Wish I could, but you have to be sixteen..."

Fred was closest and grabbed the quill next, scribbling his name followed by George's and Lee's. He glanced at last at his twin. "You _did_ want to sign up, right?"

George rolled his eyes and shoved him into the wall.

* * *

><p>As weeks passed, Harry's anxiety grew. Sure, he had solved the second task, but he still had next to no idea how he would survive being underwater for an hour...<p>

On the plus side, the other Gryffindor boys - spurred on by their earlier discover with the egg - chipped in their assistance, and Harry's free hours were spent on evenings and weekends in the library, poring over old manuals of spells while Seamus, Dean, or Ron would offer the occasional suggestion. So far anything that had come remotely close to mentioning underwater breathing was unhelpful.

Harry had also noticed Fred and George Weasley in the library - an odd sight indeed - and Ron, growing desperate, had sneaked over to their table in an effort to see what they were researching. However, he was quickly shooed away by Fred, who threatened him with Budgerigar Bonbons - the newest in the Canary Cream line - in his dinner.

Hermione joined them on occasion, but she did not find anything of use, either. She seemed to be distracted as of late, though Harry was in no mindset to wonder about it, and he was unsurprised when one evening her usual place at their heavily laden table was occupied by Neville Longbottom.

"Hey, guys," he said, to which the others offered brief, "Hi, Neville"s before retreating behind their books again. Neville rummaged in his bag and pulled out a thick Herbology textbook, some parchment, and a quill.

"What are you all studying?" he wondered, peering upside down at whatever Ron was reading, a book that was very old and very worn and had very graphic pictures of people dying in various gory fashions. Ron looked pale.

"We're not studying, Neville, we're trying to help Harry with his task," put in Seamus, rubbing his eyes and squinting at his own book. "No, this one's no good either - it's if you want to raise Grindylows -"

Ron snorted, "Hagrid'd like it, then."

"Oh," said Neville, and his ears went pink, "I thought you had started a study group with Hermione ... that's why I came..."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Harry miserably. "Maybe once I figure out how'm gonna survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth."

"Fat chance," muttered Ron, "I'm not studying any more than I have to."

Neville nodded and quietly collected his things to leave - then as if struck by a thought, he hesitated. "I thought I read something once about a plant that helps you breathe underwater," he supplied in a sudden rush.

The others glanced up.

"Brilliant, what is it?" said Ron, since Harry seemed to be momentarily speechless.

Neville dug a book out of his bag labelled _One Thousand Herbs and Fungi_ and flipped through it, brow furrowed. "It's ... here it is, Gillyweed."

"Gillyweed?" The Gryffindors looked wonderingly at one another.

"Bet Snape has some," Ron said quietly, and Neville went pale.

* * *

><p>That Friday, during double Potions, they put their plan in effect. They were working on a tricky sort of potion designed to heal small cuts and burns; Snape had spent five minutes lecturing them on how the slightest mis-timed addition could cause it to react. Sweat formed along Harry's brow as he and Ron peered into the orange-coloured concoction; it was steadily thickening as it stewed and raising his head Harry squinted at the instructions written out on the board in Snape's spiky print.<p>

"Right then," Ron gulped, a bit ashen in the light of the boiler. "You should probably grab some more shrivelfig, Harry, we'll need a cup of shredded leaves for the next step..."

Harry nodded and started across the room for the open potion stores; as he did he passed closely to Neville's cauldron, which he was sharing with Hermione today. Their gazes locked; Neville, very pale, was trembling as he picked up the Billywig stings that he was supposed to be adding next.

Harry went to the stores and quickly found the shrivelfig; he plucked a handful of leaves and started back toward Ron and his desk; as he did he noticed Neville quickly adding in the stings to his cauldron while Hermione was distractedly reading over the instructions she had copied down -

"No, Neville, you're supposed to stir it first -!"

Hermione's horrified gasp was cut off as the surface of the potion bubbled menacingly; Harry was right next to them now and could only look on as the bubbles lapped up over the edges of the cauldron, Hermione hastening to attempt to stir it, but it was too late: scorching liquid dribbled down the side of the cauldron, bubbles hissing and popping and sending off little spurts like sparks. Hermione gave a small whimper - some had hit her hand and she drew back, nursing it; Harry could see her skin had gone bright red. Harry ran forward as if to help them recuperate the potion and felt a spatter burn his cheek.

Professor Snape swooped down on them in an instant; with a lazy flick of his wand he vanished the ruined concoction. "Ten points from Gryffindor for sheer incompetence," he said coolly. "I told you, did I not, that perfect timing was necessary? Miss Granger, Mr Potter, the hospital wing."

Harry and Hermione hastened out of the room. His cheek was beginning to burn painfully; he could see the back of Hermione's knuckles had started peeling, like a blister.

"Oh, I thought I told him to let me put the ingredients in," she muttered ruefully as they started across the corridor. Harry caught hold of her arm, glanced both ways to ensure no one was looking, and pulled her off to the side hall where he knew Snape's personal stores lay.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped out. "We're supposed to -!"

"I need Gillyweed for the second task, Neville figured it out," Harry said stubbornly. "We've got maybe fifteen minutes of class left, Ron'll stall if we need him to."

Hermione was staring at him with a mixture of horror and admiration. "If you get caught, Harry -"

"I won't," he said determinedly. "Stay here and give me a warning if anyone's coming."

At her nod he hurried toward the door to the storage, opened it with a swift mutter of "_Alohomora_," and dove inside, leaving Hermione fidgeting as nervously as a bird in the open hallway.

Five minutes later the duo were hurrying up the stairs to the hospital wing, Harry clutching a small bulge in his robe pocket; despite the fact that his heart was pounding he felt that, for once in the Tournament, something had at last gone right.

* * *

><p>Two days remained until the second task when at breakfast that Monday a familiar brown owl landed near Harry's plate. Eagerly he removed the proffered scroll from its leg, glad at last to hear from Sirius -<p>

Ron and Hermione peered over his shoulder as he unfurled the small scroll and read out in an incredulous whisper the single line. "_Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl_...?"

Hermione's eyes had suddenly gone wide, but before Harry could ask what made realization dawn suddenly on her face, a red-haired figure approached and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Granger," Fred Weasley said brightly, "mind if we borrow your brain for a minute?"

"Oi," said Ron, glancing up at him with his eyes narrowed, "you'd better not expect her to help you two with the task -"

Fred waved him off. "We figured that out ages ago. Anyway, you coming?"

Hermione glanced one last time at the other two; Harry nodded, and she got up and followed Fred from the Great Hall. Her curiosity started to get the better of her when he led the way upstairs and down a side hall until they stood in front of the second floor girls' washroom. Hermione raised her eyebrows but Fred nonchalantly held the door open for her.

"Our laboratory," he said with a grin. With a last uncertain look at him, she stepped forward into the deserted washroom.

Glancing around, Hermione saw in the place she had concocted Polyjuice Potion in second year that there was a cauldron bubbling merrily; it seemed Myrtle had left several of the sink taps on and they were filling rapidly with water. George grinned at her from where he was crouched over the cauldron.

"Just finished it this morning! I think it's one of our more genius inventions, if I do say so myself."

"Finished _what_?" Hermione said warily, approaching to view the potion at a distance. Grinning, George showed her a small flask.

"Our underwater breathing serum. See, I'll stick it in a candy later, we're planning on marketing them as memorabilia after the second task."

"As our favourite critic, I thought you might like to see our brilliance in action," added Fred with a grin. "We're thinking a teaspoon of this'll be enough to last an hour underwater."

"You think?" Hermione repeated, looking around at George.

"Well, theoretically that's what it came down to," George nodded. "We still have to test it. Thus, the guinea pig."

Hermione got a very suspicious look on her face and stepped quickly away from Fred, who was standing beside her; both twins burst out laughing.

"No, not you, of course," Fred said, "I'm testing this one. You're just here in case something goes bizarrely wrong and George can't fix it."

"You seem rather confident for - ah - the risks," Hermione accused.

Fred shrugged. "What can I say, I'd trust him with my life."

Behind him, Hermione saw the sudden pained look that flashed across George's face; then he was smiling again.

"All right, Fred, it's nearly eight o'clock - you ready?"

Fred nodded and took the small vial from him, uncapping it. "Ready when you are."

George kept an eye on his watch. "Okay - three - two - one - go."

Fred threw back the potion, gagging a moment; it seemed very potent. Then without a moment's hesitation he moved to the sinks and plunged his head under the water. Hermione hastened to his side and saw to her immense surprise thin slits on either side of his neck - gills. She shook her head; well, whatever worked.

A few moments passed and Fred gave George a thumbs-up; it was working.

"Great, just keep it up for fifty nine more minutes," George encouraged at his shoulder. Fred's hand gesture changed into something slightly less kind, and George raised an eyebrow.

"Thanks, you too." He glanced at Hermione. "Now, to amuse ourselves for an hour."

Hermione shook her head at him, but as they withdrew she remembered what had occurred to her that morning; checking that they were far enough away from the currently submerged Fred, she lowered her voice.

"We have a date to meet our old friend."

"Lovely," said George, catching on immediately. "When?"

"Next Hogsmeade weekend."

George did the math. "That'll be March sixth ... but Harry and Ron are going, too, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded, troubled. "We'll have to catch him alone afterward, I guess - at least we'll know where he is."

George nodded, "And since he's of age we'll be able to start collecting the you-know-whats of you-know-who."

"Yes."

George leaned back against the counter. "Finally," he sighed. "It feels like we're actually doing something. And don't forget I'll be of age in another month and a half, so that'll speed things up a bit."

"Don't get cocky yet," Hermione warned. "There's still another task before we can start on that ... and decide what to do about the third..."

George nodded distractedly, watching Fred's head bob in the sink.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Meh, not my favorite chapter, but all the smaller sections had to happen somehow. Next chapter we'll see some action, I promise. :P<p>

Please review!


	15. The Second Task

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience! Here it is, the second task. :D**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14 - The Second Task<strong>

When Fred woke up on Wednesday the twenty-fourth of February, he lay for a long moment with his hands behind his head and contemplated the stretch of canvas over his head. By Lee's glowing alarm clock, the second task loomed only two hours away now.

He didn't know why this feeling of foreboding clutched at the base of his stomach and set all his nerves on edge. If someone had asked if he was nervous prior to the Quidditch Cup final last year, he would have laughed it off; he and George hadn't gotten as far as they did by doubting themselves, he would have scoffed. Up until entering their names in the Goblet this year, the twins had offered up the impression that they were fearless.

Fred rolled over and stared at the neat empty bed to his right. George was still missing; he had been called away by Professor McGonagall while they were reviewing their tactics last night in the common room, and Fred hadn't seen him since he had flashed a grin then and wished "George" good luck.

That was the very reason he was suddenly so petrified of the task in front of him, Fred thought suddenly. Again the scene with the Swedish Short-Snout played out in his mind, and his stomach clenched with the same horror that had iced his insides when he saw his brother go down covered in blood. It was enough of a reminder to have to stare at the gap where his ear should have been for months afterward; even now, he stared at the side of George's head with an unconscious awareness – even without seeing the garish wound – that they were suddenly terribly different.

Fred admitted he was scared because of that. Prior to the first task, he would have said the Tournament would be a cinch for the two of them; it was practically tailored to their mastery of thinking out of the box, of dealing with the unexpected, and they were gung ho for the challenge. But now...

Now, Fred thought, it was a lot more appealing to just curl up in bed and wait for it to be over.

He still had two hours, didn't he? Fred flung the pillow over his head to block out the growing daylight and restlessly closed his eyes once more.

The next thing he knew, someone was violently shaking his shoulder.

"Fred! Fred! C'mon, mate, the task's in half an hour. You've got to get ready," Lee's voice proclaimed above him. Fred groaned and emerged tousle-haired from beneath his pillow, blinking up at his old friend.

"George's not here," he said bleakly, stubbornly clinging to that fact. "I can't go down there, not without him."

Lee stared at him, his eyes round. "The champions are supposed to be down at the lake in half an hour. He's probably already gone ahead... Come on, if you're gonna pretend to be him, we've got to hurry..."

"Five more minutes," Fred appealed obstinately. "He has to be coming back. He has to be."

Lee seized his pillow before he could burrow beneath its shelter again. "Come _on_, you stupid git! We're all waiting on you -!"

"I'm not going without George!"

With sudden vehemence, he needed to see his brother again. Fred wasn't sure if he was mad enough to hope for some last minute reassurance – some trick George had picked up during the first task – or if he only needed to see him just one last time... just in case...

Fred's stomach twisted at the thought and, since he no longer had a pillow, he settled for burying his head between his arms. Lee stood for a moment over his bed, arms crossed, glaring at his back.

"Fine, have things your way," Lee muttered, and Fred heard his footsteps retreating as he said under his breath, "Don't say you didn't ask for desperate measures..."

The dormitory door clicked shut behind him. For a few blessed more quiet minutes, Fred was alone.

He relished each passing second before he had to be in the lake, whether or not his prat of a brother decided to show up. Fred's mind raced and he wondered shamelessly if it was too late to fake sick; Lee wouldn't believe him, of course, but if he somehow made it to the hospital wing, he could hide out there until it was over.

Fred rolled over to face the opposite wall, his head propped on his arms. Hell, who was he kidding? He was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? George would've died laughing or hit him if he could see him on the verge of chickening out now.

But then again, if George had the decency to show up, he wouldn't be a nervous wreck right now, either. At least Fred had had the generosity to sit with him the morning of the first task and crack the jokes for both of them.

Stupid George.

The door slammed behind him: Lee was back. It couldn't have been five minutes yet. Too stubborn to cede and too far from his usual countenance to summon a retort, Fred did the only thing he could and yanked the covers up over his head.

He heard Lee sigh somewhere overhead, voice muffled through the blankets. "Yeah, that's pretty much all I've gotten out of him so far."

_There's still twenty minutes, _Fred thought, curling his fists next to his head. _If you cared at all about my sanity, Georgie, you'd show your cheeky face right about now, so I can punch you._

But Lee apparently wasn't through with torturing him, as a cold draft of air hit his back; he'd yanked off his covers, too. Indignantly Fred rolled onto his back, squinting up at his once-best friend with a retort on his tongue.

A feminine voice interrupted his search for an angry reply. "Get up, _now_." Hermione Granger stood over his bed with her hands on her hips and a rightly scary glare in place.

Fred got up.

Hermione nodded to Lee, who tossed him an armful of clothes with apparently no sympathy for his bruised ego.

"I thought I could trust you," Fred whined to Lee.

He shrugged, "Sorry, mate. I had to do it."

"Get yourself neatened up, _George,_" Hermione ordered. "We'll meet you downstairs in five minutes. We brought up some toast. Harry's already eating."

They left and the dormitory door echoed shut behind them. Fred, muttering darkly under his breath about the various ways he'd murder his brother and best friend when this was over, quickly changed into his school robes. He combed a hand through his hair and squinted around the room, discovering his wand on the cabinet by his bed alongside a small orange capsule. He clenched his fist around the underwater-breathing sweet, drawing a steadying breath.

_George, if this doesn't work, I will bloody kill you. Just so you know._

Downstairs in the otherwise deserted common room, it seemed the Gryffindor fourth years were hosting their own small party. They had dragged a cluster of chairs together and sat around a table piled with a flagon of pumpkin juice, half a dozen glasses, a plate of bacon and eggs, and several stacks of golden toast, all courtesy of the Great Hall. Nevertheless, a sombre silence hung around them and all eyes seemed to be on Harry picking apart his toast. Neville sat to his left and whispered reassurances while an ashen-faced Ginny perched to his right. Dean and Seamus attempted to cajole Harry into taking another slice of toast.

Fred stopped in his tracks and blinked at them, bemused. Hermione hurried over and took his hand, guiding him to a seat on the couch in between her and Lee. The silence ruptured momentarily as the fourth year boys uttered various low good mornings. Hermione reached for a new plate as Harry glanced up.

"Hey, Fred."

Fred opened his mouth when Lee kicked him in the shin and shot him a very pointed look. Fred cleared his throat. "I'm ... I'm George."

Harry blinked at him. "Oh. Sorry. That's what I get this morning, I guess."

"Never mind that," Fred shrugged him off and made an attempt at a grin. "You ready, mate?"

"I think so. A bit more than the last one, anyway." Harry looked balefully at his plate as Ginny handed him another slice of toast. "Thanks..."

"You've got to keep up your strength, both of you," she said with brisk confidence that none of them really felt.

Fred sighed when Hermione pushed a plate of toast and marmalade into his hands. His mouth tasted like ash right now, but he forced a lopsided smile at her nonetheless. She was still watching him, and so he resigned himself to pull apart the crust.

"...Gin? Where're Ron and Ge – Fred?"

"How should I know?" she said edgily. "If I did, they'd be here."

"Ron didn't come in last night," Dean said, glancing between them. "He went to go talk to McGonagall, and we haven't seen him since."

Fred made a faint noise in his throat, staring at his toast as if it would somehow diminish of its own accord. Hermione touched his arm.

"I'm sure they'll be down there," she said firmly. "Don't worry about them. Let's just get you through this."

She didn't look either of them in the eye as she spoke.

It seemed only five minutes later that Hermione announced it was time and hustled them out of the common room. Fred's heart began to pound as the Gryffindors ventured down the hall and instinctively his hand roved toward his pocket, where he could still feel the somewhat comforting lump of their invention. At least he had a plan.

That was something, wasn't it?

Fred walked with Harry down the snow-encrusted grounds, neither feeling much up to talking; Lee kept muttering various encouragements at his elbow, while Neville, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus did the same for Harry. Hermione, walking between them, looked as pale as if she was embarking on the task herself.

When the glassy black surface of the lake came into view, Fred noted the stands previously surrounding the dragons' enclosure had been erected along the shoreline. Students already packed the bleachers, and an appreciative roar of applause met their ears as the two Hogwarts champions made their way down the beach to where Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour waited for them in front of a long golden-draped table. Fred's jaw clenched unconsciously and his eyes roved from the other champions to the seated judges. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were as stiff and severe as could be expected; Dumbledore smiled pleasantly; Bagman was as irritatingly vibrant as ever in rich purple robes, bouncing on the balls of his feet; and at the end of the line, in Mr Crouch's usual spot, sat a prim Percy Weasley.

Fred turned back and pretended not to have noticed his brother, though his gaze had darkened.

"Well ... good luck," whispered Neville, considerably pale now, and he hastened off with Ginny, Dean and Seamus for seats; Harry stared after them as if he fervently wished he could join them. Lee hesitated a moment longer, then squeezed Fred's shoulder.

"Come on, now," he encouraged quietly, "you've got to do him proud."

Fred nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Lee, too, departed. Hermione lingered, looking between the two of them with a stricken look pasted on her face. "Please be careful, both of you..."

Bagman was moving forward now, spacing the champions out a few feet apart on the shore, and a breathless hush fell over the crowd. Trailing off with a last, frightened look at Fred, Hermione hurried for her seat. In her absence Bagman pointed Fred to the left and shifted Harry a little over on the right so that he was the farthest from the others.

Fred glanced over his shoulder at the other two champions; Krum was in swim trunks, and Fred couldn't help but wonder how he could tolerate the crisp February air; Fleur, too, had deserted her robes in favour of something less bulky in the water. Both were steeled for the task ahead, grimly eyeing the black expanse of water. Hastily Fred copied them, collecting his wand and the candy before tossing aside his school robes and bending to loosen his shoes and socks.

"Excellent!" beamed Bagman, now standing in line with the champions, his voice echoing magically across the lake. "All our champions are now ready for the second task! On my whistle, they will have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then: one, two ... _three_!"

A shrill whistle split the cold morning air; the stadium exploded with cheers. Without chancing a glance back, Fred plunged forward into the icy water, feeling it tug about his legs and cold tighten in his chest. Small rocks prickled beneath his toes as he splashed awkwardly forward, legs and lungs burning with the chill. He didn't dare look about for what Krum and Harry, on either side of him, were doing; instead Fred took a ragged breath, shut out the noise of the screaming crowd, and popped the candy into his mouth.

_Here goes..._

As soon as he swallowed it, he felt the familiar burning sensation prickle the sides of his neck; he didn't wait for the gills to grow in as he was already sloshing forward, up to his waist, then to his chest – it burned to breathe now –

He took a last breath of cold air and transferred the wand in his fist upward to clamp it between his teeth before plunging his head underwater. A cold shiver traveled along his spine as he pushed off from the bottom, propelling himself forward. The water was pure ice, but he could still breathe, a steady stream of bubbles emerging from his mouth, and that was enough; he had George's genius to thank for that.

Straining his eyes on the darkness, he caught silhouettes moving forward from his left. He followed them in broad even strokes, concentrating on the odd scenery passing all around him to distract himself from the cold. The farther he swam, the lower the sandy bottom sloped away, now covered in a thick forest of tangled weeds. He ventured further, urgently searching the darkness, wondering how much time had passed now.

There was nothing to do but keep swimming: past great outcroppings of stone looming in the shadows, past long smooth expanses of sand dotted with nothing but glistening rocks, past even more seaweed waving like trees in the wind. He didn't know how long he swam like this, searching for something, anything alive – he thought to see the occasional flicker in the seaweed below him but, chancing a glance back down at it, there was nothing.

And then as the ground sloped even lower below him and black mud clouded the water as he churned onward, he heard it: a haunting strand of song, as he had heard that day he had jumped in the lake with the screaming egg.

_"Your time's half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot..."_

Fred lurched forward, stroking out faster now until his arms began to ache; his teeth clenched tightly around his wand. He had to be nearly there...!

And then, out of the gloom, he saw shadows rising up in front of him; as he neared, he made out the hulking shapes of buildings hewn out of the rock; from gaps of windows he caught the flashes of ethereal faces staring at him like so many phantoms. They were merpeople: their skin greyed, their long green hair twining in the water behind them, their yellowish eyes following his course. It unnerved him - but the merpeople made no attempt to stop him, and so he continued.

The haunting song grew louder the farther into the merpeople's village he went; up ahead some great outcropping loomed over him, casting him into shadow, and he swam faster toward it. Out of the darkness he perceived dozens of merpeople drifting about, eagerly watching something; as he came upon them they parted to let him pass, and he did so, eyeing the spears they held with healthy apprehension.

As he ventured further into the middle of the village square the chord of song grew louder. A choir of the merpeople were chanting, their entwined voices melodious as the crash of water upon the craggy shore; but Fred was no longer paying attention to them, for up ahead he caught sight of a giant stone statue of a merperson, weathered expression nearly invisible high above. About the curve of the tail three figures were drifting limply, bound tightly against it, and in front of them a small dark figure appeared to be arguing with a fierce-looking merman holding a long spear.

Fred's breath seized in his chest and without thinking he hurried forward; the merman glanced up and fell back, and the figure – Harry – turned toward him. He shouted something, but only a large bubble jetted from his lips. Up close, his hands and feet appeared oddly webbed, his skin tinged green and ghostly by the water's depths.

A limp figure drifted beside Harry, bobbing with every slight undulation of the surrounding current, his pale face lolling on his shoulder, and Fred recognized him at once. _Ron._ Fred's insides twisted sickly at the sight of his younger brother looking so lifeless – so –

Fred tore his eyes away from Harry and Ron with difficulty, at last turning to the statue. He froze, and the weight of the water started to pull him downward until he remembered to keep treading water with his legs, and – even more importantly – to breathe.

There, drifting just as lifelessly, was George: with thick seaweed twined about his chest he hung limply against the eroded statue, his limbs and neck lolling now and then with the current's cruel puppetry. His long red hair billowed freely, and an eerie light danced across his ashen freckled face, highlighting a suddenly noticeable gauntness to his cheekbones and deepening the shadows around his closed eyes. For a fleeting moment – a nonetheless terrifying, heart-stopping moment – Fred believed the illusion that his twin lay bound in front of him, dead, and he was too late. Then forcibly he breathed again, drawing several long, ragged gasps that made his gills burn before he had the strength to wrench his gaze away from George and to the two figures drifting alongside him.

To George's left, her head lolling on his shoulder, was Angelina Johnson, her thick braids roving of their own accord around her face like dozens of black and menacing snakes; Fred understood with a jolt that she had to be Krum's hostage. On George's other side was a young girl with silvery hair, much smaller and slighter so that she had to be tied separately, her head just poking from above the thick ropes.

Somehow tearing his eyes from the sight of the comatose hostages, Fred turned back to Harry.

_We can only take one,_ Harry mouthed, holding up one finger; meanwhile he clung to Ron's collar, who had been drifting away on him. Fred nodded, swimming nearer to the bound hostages. He clenched his teeth, glancing briefly to Angelina and mentally apologizing; but he knew he wouldn't be able to carry both her and his brother, and nevertheless – Krum would be coming shortly, wouldn't he? He couldn't allow himself to think otherwise, and mindful only of his haste, he tugged at the ropes around George's chest, which were slippery and taut like seaweed. Fred reached up, grabbing his wand.

"_Diffindo_!" A trail of bubbles escaped him, but then there was a slight flare and the binding fell away; Fred caught one arm under George's elbow and cast a last glance at Harry; he nodded. _Go on._

_Good luck, _Fred mouthed and, twisting around, started his upward climb.

He had never before realized how heavy George was. Reduced to paddling with one arm, he stretched out blindly in the darkness, thrashing his legs, making his way inch by inch upward; he could feel the pressure of thousands of tonnes of water overhead making his ears ring; his chest was heaving, his limbs burning with the effort to keep swimming _... keep swimming..._

Suddenly his throat was burning, too; Fred panicked. It couldn't have been an hour yet – he had lost track of time in the darkness – he paddled madly upward, dragging George in his wake. Up above he saw a glistening of light, teasing him.

_Just ... a little ... farther..._

His lungs were burning; the sides of his neck seared and he knew more than felt that his makeshift gills were sealing off; he was so close, the light was brighter now, he could see the surface gleaming and rippling overhead...

And then something latched on to his ankle.

Fred thrashed instinctively, shooting a glance downward and meeting the jagged grin of a Grindylow. There were others looming out of the shadows, their long fingers grasping his legs, pulling him downward...

He couldn't breathe.

Fred stopped his mad struggling and managed to get both arms around George's waist; with the last of his strength he thrust his twin upward, toward the shimmering surface, toward air...

Black spots flared across his vision and salty water surged into Fred's mouth. The greedy claws of the Grindylows sank into his flesh as they pulled him back down. He had nothing left. In a last defiant act he raised his wand, lips soundlessly moving at a spell...

There was a rush of something like air and white light around him; and then Fred fell back into the welcome darkness.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Meep.<p> 


	16. Full Circle

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: I updated, because Mondays need to be a little brighter sometimes.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15 - Full Circle<br>**

George's eyes flew open.

He gasped instinctively, chest shuddering as he dragged fresh air to his lungs. His ear was ringing and he blinked, shaking his wet hair from his eyes. All around him gleamed the lake's surface, rippling and too dazzlingly bright beneath the midmorning sun, and the air vibrated with screams from the crowd on shore.

In his stupor he felt himself slipping downward again, and it was only when water filled his mouth that he thrashed, coughing, and somehow managed to keep himself afloat in his lagging robes with his head bobbing above the surface. Distantly he cursed his choice of attire, having known very well by the time McGonagall pulled him, Ron, and Angelina aside that he'd be spending the morning in the lake.

Speaking of which... George turned his head and allowed the cheers on shore to wash over him. The second task was over, and that realization alone had him grinning like an idiot as a great weight eased off his shoulders. What had he been so worried about, after all? Fred had succeeded; Fred had pulled through the task on his own.

Still dizzied by the clamour ringing in his ear, George distantly noted something missing amid the raw cheers. Shouldn't he have heard Fred's voice among them, wry as he drawled, "I told you so, didn't I?"

George whirled around, searching the blinding surface of the lake. Nonetheless the revelation struck him like a weight in the bottom of his stomach, and as the cold water closed around his chest he struggled to breathe.

His brother was gone.

"Fred...!"

Silence rang back at him. The water rippled tantalizingly, but George was certain the disturbance came only from his own frantic treading. His smile had vanished now and the color drained away from his face.

"Shit..._shit_!"

Ignoring the confusion on shore he turned back, drew a deep gasp of breath, and plunged beneath the surface.

The sudden onset of darkness had him blinking, straining his eyes against the pressing weight of the lake. He could barely see his own hands in front of him as he clawed his way downward, and the salt water burned against his eyes. The cold clenched in his lungs spread through to the rest of his body, weighting down his struggles. His fingers numbed as out of nowhere the crumbling Great Hall surfaced in his mind.

_Oh, God, not now._

But even as he reached for that numb calm of Occlumency he had perfected earlier in the year, George knew it was too late. A freezing pain scorched the base of his lungs and in his mind he walked along the bloody row, stopping short, as he always would, in front of his brother's body.

_No..._

Fred was dead.

Glassy blue eyes gazed toward the starry ceiling; his lips remained frozen in a laugh, a too cruel prank on the part of the eternity that had stolen him away too soon. George was hardly aware that he had stopped flailing downward. The cold water snaked around his chest with the semblance of misty helplessness brought on by a Dementor.

_No... No..._

The chill seized his body and his lungs burned; vaguely George knew that if he didn't move soon, he would die here, too. The notion snapped him back to reality with sudden force and before he knew what he was doing he had drawn his wand against the darkness closing in his mind. He didn't have the breath left to spare on words, but his mind screamed the spell as he summoned up the wild euphoria first hearing Fred's laugh again had brought him.

_Because Fred isn't dead, goddamn it... Because we've worked too hard to let ourselves go down like this...!_

A brilliant light seared from the tip of his wand and George was momentarily blind in its silvery glow; without the strength to move, he commanded the Patronus with will alone. _Find Fred,_ he begged of it, and at once the light flowed downward, gliding like a ghost through the deep water, sending what George first thought to be fish scattering every which way.

Then he realized a dark figure drifted some feet below him, and as the last Grindylow darted off in a glimmer of scales George's heart nearly stopped.

_Not Fred. Please, God, not Fred. Not again._

With unknown strength George swam down to his brother and hooked his hands beneath his arms; with a heave he kicked off for the surface again, inhaling a mouthful of salt water as he struggled with Fred's weight.

His lungs seared and his eardrums rang from the pressure of the water; but with the misty glow of the Patronus settling over them, he dragged them both, foot by painful foot, up toward the shimmer of light overhead. George shut his eyes and felt a steadying fortitude that was not his own wash over him.

And then – somehow, miraculously – his head broke the surface. Fresh air slapped his face and George threw back his head, spluttering and coughing. He hauled Fred up against his chest and clung to him, shaking from head to foot, terrified to let go.

On shore, the crowd was still screaming; but George was only aware of the ringing in his ear as he fought to tread water and get his arms around his brother, to hold his back up against his body and use the last of his strength to compress his chest.

Fred. _Fred_. Wake up, _please_, goddamn it. You can't do this to me, Fred.

George was hardly aware that he shouted the words now, his voice too hoarse and raw. His cheeks stung – whether it was tears or lake water running down his face, he couldn't tell anymore – and it wasn't fair, not when they'd won again –

And then, as George made another trembling attempt at resuscitation, he felt Fred's chest heave against his hands; his brother's head shot up and he coughed up a mouthful of sea water.

"FRED!" The whirl of lingering desperation and surging relief seized his mind and George lunged at his twin. They floundered; Fred thrashed weakly against him.

"Bloody hell, George, what're you playing at?" he rasped out, spitting out another mouthful of water.

George didn't answer. He was laughing, for no real reason other than that if he didn't laugh, he would surely start crying; and he was pretty sure there were already tracks of tears running down his cheeks anyway. He didn't care: Fred's face was smeared with blood from a scratch on his cheek, but the mere wakefulness with which he blinked blearily up at George made him that much more alive.

Somehow George managed to gather the sense to start dragging them both toward shore. He kept one arm firmly around Fred, since his brother seemed less than capable of swimming on his own right now. When his feet touched bottom, George stood up at last and his waterlogged robbed threatened to pull them both down again. He stumbled forward, legs shaking, Fred slumped wearily against him with one arm hooked around George's neck.

Before they made it to shore Percy came splashing out toward them. George slowed and blinked up at him, having only once seen Percy look so shaken. Ashen-faced, stumbling in his course toward them, their older brother hurried out to them.

"Fred! George!" It took them both by surprise when Percy thrust aside all pretence and threw an arm around each of them, nearly knocking their heads together in his fervent hug. Percy's shoulders shook and his glasses slipped on his nose as he babbled into their huddle. "I don't know what – I'm sorry I yelled at you, George, I –"

George only made a faint noise in his throat, awkwardly patting Percy on the arm as he tried not to fall forward onto him. Now he registered that they were soaked to the bone and shivering in the February air, and as Percy pulled back from the hug the front of his robes were drenched, too. None of them seemed to care in the least: _Fred was alive._

The thought made him giddy and George wavered in his relief as Percy muttered something about warm blankets and hastened back toward dry land. Fred wordlessly pulled George's arm around his shoulders and found the strength to lead the two of them after Percy. Through his sodden fringe George eyed the churned stretch of beach ahead and mentally swore he'd never, ever leave dry land again.

As his bleary gaze trailed the shoreline, he noted another figure racing toward them out of the crowd and his heart gave a small jolt. Hermione met them when they staggered onto the sand and without a second thought she flung herself at Fred's neck.

"You did it! You did it, Fred, thank God –"

Fred blinked, stunned by this development, and loosened his grip on George's shoulders to put his arm around her. "Yeah...yeah, I guess I did." He offered up a lopsided grin at the declaration. Hermione released him and turned to hug George, too.

"Well done," she whispered into his shoulder, and George knew by the way she trembled against him that she, too, had been scared out of her wits.

"Th-thanks," he managed through numbing lips, "but, 'Mione, you're getting wet –"

Hermione didn't seem to have noticed, but pulled away nonetheless. Fred frowned at them. "Hang on, how did you know it was me?"

"I –" Hermione looked around at him, wide-eyed, but before she could formulate a reply the emergence of two more sopping wet people behind them created a distraction.

Viktor Krum stumbled toward shore, the ferocious features of a shark slowly shrinking into those of the Durmstrang champion; he held a steady grip on Angelina's hand, and though she was as drenched as the rest of them, she beamed at the twins as she attempted to rake her hair back from her face.

Still giddy with relief, George grinned back at both of them and even extended his hand to Viktor to help him ashore.

Shortly Percy returned with the promised blankets, fussing so much as he wrapped them up that Fred shook himself loose and proclaimed, "Who're you – Mum?" He didn't get the chance to complain for very long since Madam Pomfrey followed on their brother's heels, her expression grim and several cups of steaming Pepper-Up Potion at hand.

"Drink this," she ordered brusquely, passing them out among the champions and their captives. George didn't protest; the potion seeped with warmth down his throat, and a tingle of feeling returned to his limbs. When they'd all drank the concoction Madam Pomfrey seized Fred by the arm and dragged him toward a tent established beyond the judges' table, muttering over his cuts.

Meanwhile, Hermione took George by the hand and led their group to the benches set up near the judges. Fleur was already waiting there, alone; a quick glance cast in her direction revealed her bare arms to be swathed in bandages. Viktor and Angelina sat near her and struck up a quiet conversation.

Hermione urged George to sit and handed him a thermos of tea while she herself hovered, glancing now and then toward the still lake. George didn't allow his eyes to leave the tent until a disgruntled Fred emerged and came to sit next to him, tugging his blankets up about his neck. A white bandage covered the previous bloody mark on his left cheek.

"Crazy, isn't she?"

George didn't answer, taking a deep drink of tea and thoroughly appreciating how it warmed him all the way down his throat. He passed it off to Fred, who was now squinting in the direction Hermione was looking.

"Where d'you reckon Harry is? He was down there when I got there..."

George hissed at him; Fred took the hint and wisely shut up about his replacing the real Hogwarts champion, drinking the proffered tea.

They waited in the cold morning air. None of them spoke, even if a silent worry settled in to each of their minds. The hands on the clock on the judges' table ticked further and further past ten thirty – but still no sign of Harry.

At last, Fred shuffled to his feet, handed the empty thermos back to George, and started pacing. Hermione took his abandoned spot and watched him stride agitatedly back and forth. She chewed on her lower lip and George knew what she was thinking: neither of them dared to trust the current timeline enough to assume Harry would momentarily return, safe and sound, with Ron and Gabrielle in tow.

In any case, waiting for the news – every few minutes scanning the still black water, looking at one another – was as hellishly heart-wrenching as before.

When the crowd let out a unanimous roar Hermione leaped to her feet, eyes wide and hopeful. She let out a small gasp as she seized George's arm – "Yes!" – and he whirled around to look.

A dark head bobbed far out over the lake, followed a moment later by unmistakeable red hair and a smaller silver-haired figure. In a moment, the three were not alone: the heads of two dozen merpeople with hair as thick as seaweed emerged from the water, their screeching heralding the last champion's return like a guard of honour.

Without a word to one another Hermione, Fred, and George were the first down to the shore to greet them. When Harry, exhausted, sloshed toward them, Fred grinned and held out his hand to pull him onto dry land.

"Well done, Potter!" he declared, clapping Harry on the back and involuntarily making his knees shake. "Not just a brilliant Seeker, are you?"

"Th-thanks," Harry stuttered.

Behind him, Ron was helping Gabrielle toward shore, the girl gazing wide-eyed up at the cheering stands as if she couldn't have imagined all of this from the Professors' earlier instructions. George, who was feeling sufficiently warm and buoyant with the knowledge that the task was over, draped his blanket around Ron's shoulders while Hermione held out her hand to Gabrielle.

"It's all right now. Madam Pomfrey will be right around to warm you up."

And just as predicted, the matron was already hustling toward them with her blankets and potion while Dumbledore conferred in Mermish with a wild-looking merperson at the edge of the lake. As Madam Pomfrey fussed over the newcomers George looked over at Fred and Hermione and couldn't resist grinning.

He caught sight of Fleur rushing down toward them as well and hid his smile, stepping aside toward the other two as she threw her arms around her younger sister. "Gabrielle, I am so sorry – it was ze Grindylows – zey attacked me... _oh, Gabrielle, ma belle_ –"

"Yeah, they tried to do a number on me, too," said Fred, but George was saved from deterring his interruption as Hermione got to him first and elbowed him in the ribs. George smirked faintly and turned back in time to see Fleur rounding on Harry.

"You saved 'er," she declared breathlessly, "even though she was not your 'ostage –"

"Yeah," said Harry numbly. Before he could react, Fleur swooped down and kissed him on each cheek; George was rewarded with the stupefied look on his face as he went as red as a tomato. Then Fleur turned to Ron.

"And you – you 'elped –"

"Yeah, I did," Ron said hopefully. He went starry eyed as she kissed him, too, and George attempted to stifle his snigger as a hacking cough. Hermione rolled her eyes, looking amused, and Fred smirked smugly. Before he could comment, however, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed across the shore.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-chieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions as follows.

"Miss Fleur Delacour, though demonstrating excellent use of the bubblehead charm, was attacked by Grindylows and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty five points." There was a smattering of polite applause as Fleur shook her head.

"Mr George Weasley was first to return with his hostage, and put to great use what seems to have been an improvised breathing solution. He was nevertheless three minutes outside of the allotted one hour."

"Aw, come off it," Fred muttered. George shrugged lightly, aware of Fred's great dislike for Ludo Bagman.

"Accordingly, we have decided to award him forty-eight points."

Fred mouthed the amount incredulously, looking frozen between shock and being immensely pleased with himself. He settled on grinning sideways at George, who only smirked while Hermione hugged Fred again.

"Mr Viktor Krum was second to return with his hostage ten minutes after the time limit. He used an effective feat of Transfiguration, for which we award him forty five points." The crowd cheered and the Durmstrang section let out a roar.

"And finally," Bagman had to raise his voice over the noise, "Mr Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great effect and returned with his hostage far after the time limit. However, as the Mer-chieftainess has informed us, he was the first to reach the hostages, and his delay was out of a desire to bring them all to safety, not only his own."

Harry at least had the grace to look ashamed as the other Gryffindors turned on him. Hermione shook her head with a knowing smile as George faked another coughing fit.

"Thus the judges have agreed that his score is forty five points for a display of extraordinary moral fibre."

Even if George had expected it was coming, it didn't stop him from actually choking while Fred pounded him heartily on the back.

"Forty-five!" Ron exclaimed, laughing. "There you go, Harry! You weren't being thick at all – you were showing _moral fibre_!" As they beamed and exchanged high-fives, Hermione, who had been watching in concern as George coughed up half a lung, turned suddenly back to them.

"Harry, do you know what this means? You're in first place!"

Harry's eyes widened; his mouth opened and closed several times. While he was in shock Fred bounded forward and seized his hand; George, his eyes still watering, copied him on Harry's opposite side.

"Excellent work," George managed, his voice surely lost in the cheering crowd.

"Watch out, though, we're right behind you!" Fred grinned.

"Yeah," said Harry blankly. "You guys did good, though. I should've just paid you to give me some of your stuff instead of the Gillyweed..."

"Nah, didn't want to cramp your style," said Fred, beating George to the remark. He blinked and mentally shrugged.

_That's one way to put it..._

Somehow Bagman's voice made itself heard over the noise. "The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what awaits them precisely one month before the task. Until then...thank you all for supporting your champions this far!"

* * *

><p>The Gryffindor common room was an explosion of noise that evening. The fact that both Harry and 'George' had excelled at the given task was only all the more reason to host a party all the more raucous than the last. Professor McGonagall gave up on warning them and actually stayed long enough to congratulate the two of them on their respective ingenuity before departing.<p>

George had just warded off a bunch of giggling fifth years demanding details of his underwater venture, about which he was as vague as possible, and now glanced dazedly across the crowded room. On a nearby couch, Ron regaled a group of second years with what seemed his tenth rendition of how he had been tied up underwater; Dean and Seamus were excitedly telling whoever would listen that they had helped Harry with the task ("You nearly threw my stuff in the lake, you mean," Harry tartly countered, and they grinned sheepishly). Fred and Lee headed through the crowd, selling Canary Creams and a few other recent inventions. Every once in a while, someone would burst into a puff of feathers to a roaring bout of laughter.

George caught sight of Hermione beckoning him from a secluded section in the corner and he waded over. She proffered him her untouched Butterbeer as he sank down on the couch next to her.

"Are you going to tell me what happened back there?" she said quietly. George glanced sharply at her.

"You can't like to me, George. I saw the look on your face... It was like...it was like it had happened all over again..." She wasn't looking at him. George himself gazed out over the crowd and watched Colin Creevey flapping his feathered arms and whistling off-key to the chicken dance. He did not smile.

"I thought it did for a moment," he confessed as the room shook anew with laughter. "I thought I'd lost him again. I..."

He swallowed with difficulty and settled for explaining in a bare whisper what had happened when he regained consciousness above the surface. Hermione listened in silence and refrained from commenting until he tapered off, recounting their shaken arrival onshore.

"You produced a corporeal Patronus?" she repeated now, staring at him. "I didn't know you could – I mean, considering what happened, it's incredible."

George shrugged. "I don't know. I panicked. It was the only way of stopping the – the memories." He ran his finger along the lip of his bottle, staring off into space. "At that point, I was running on instinct alone, basically. Still, I think I saw it for a moment."

Hermione gazed at him as he smiled to himself, holding on to the secret for now. After a moment she nodded and looked away again. "You know, speaking of that, it reminds me of the DA. It would be nice to get that started before next year, don't you think?"

"Yeah..." George glanced up to notice Fred wading his way toward them through the crowd and pasted on a smile.

"Cheers," said Fred, handing him a box laden with the evening's earnings, and George raised his eyebrows slightly. "I reckon it's your turn to go around. I do think I've earned myself a break, don't you?"

"The champion does not resort to slave labour," George said sanctimoniously, smirking at Fred over his Butterbeer.

Fred scowled in return, but the look was somehow not as vicious as it would have been otherwise, and George noticed his gaze wandering sideways after a moment.

"All right," George sighed deeply, disguising a smirk. "I suppose, just this once, I'll take pity on you. Wore yourself out being an unconscious hostage this morning, did you?"

"You wish, George. You wish."

George smiled politely to Hermione before rising; he shoved past Fred's shoulder as he headed off with the box of change, but watched from the corner of his eye as his brother took his abandoned seat in the corner. Nevertheless his teasing, he supposed he should leave the two of them a few moments alone. Fred had somewhat earned it, after all.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Fred did not look at one another. When he sat down she suddenly became fascinated with the chipped nails of her left hand; Fred glanced around the room and absently picked at the bandage on his cheek.<p>

Hermione's mind had flashed back uncomfortably to the last time they had been alone, and she opened her mouth in preparation to apologize for the fiasco at the Yule Ball when he suddenly intervened.

"Looks like they could use more Butterbeer." He nodded to the table at the center of the room that they had previously stocked with bottles, which was now vacant; a bleary glance around allowed Hermione to notice the now-empty bottles scattered on various surfaces and she winced at the thought of the extra work ahead of the house-elves tonight. "Reckon I'll grab some more. Fancy coming?"

"Where?" she asked, turning back on Fred. She of course knew what he was referring to, but it was worth it to have him lean toward her with a confiding grin.

"The kitchens, 'course." He stood up and offered his hand. "Well? What say you to an adventure?"

"It might be interesting," she said graciously, accepting his hand. Fred led her across the common room, and while ducking through the crowd Hermione kept a nervous eye out. Harry and Ron were busy in a cluster of third years, retelling their underwater experiences, and Hermione did not miss Ginny sitting on the arm of Harry's chair, her face shining.

The duo slipped mercifully unnoticed out the portrait hole to the darkness of the deserted corridor. When the portrait snapped shut, Hermione met the fat lady's disgruntled expression.

"Don't mind me at all," she muttered as they skulked down the hall, "not like I can hear you all screaming through my frame..."

It was late – hours past their curfew – and Hermione tiptoed after Fred in the deafening silence. It wasn't her first nor would it be her last foray after hours, but she still froze at the slightest creak of noise that might bring Mrs Norris down on them, a wheezing Filch not far behind.

At long last they turned down a familiar darkened passage adjacent to the Entrance Hall, and Hermione exhaled in relief while Fred stopped short in front of the portrait of a bowl of fruit. The sight sent a pang to her heart: between everything that had happened and that would still happen, she hadn't the time or the energy to devote to the house elf liberation front. At least S.P.E.W. would live on in spirit, she reconciled, and made a mental note to get Fred and George badges tomorrow.

After a moment she pulled herself from her thoughts, realizing Fred had yet to tickle the pear. He was staring at her very determinedly in the gloom, and Hermione felt heat wash over her face.

"What -?"

"Tell me straight, Granger," he cut her off. "At the lake, you knew it was me who went down there, so can you – can you really tell us apart?"

For a moment Hermione said nothing; her eyes went wide. This, of all things, was the last topic for which she would have expected him to drag her out of the common room.

"George and I take pride in being identical, you know," he went on. From experience, she knew his too complacent tone was only a ruse as she met his even stare with widened eyes. It struck her then how uncannily blue his eyes were, and she had to wonder if they were perhaps a slightly different shade than George's, because she was sure his twin's eyes had never affected her like this in all the months they had been conspiring together.

"Even after...the first task, only a handful of people can really tell us apart, and that's because they've been around us long enough. Even Mum gets us mixed up at times."

"What did you expect, when you always claim to be each other?" she questioned before she could stop herself.

"Well, that's the whole point, to throw people off track." Fred crossed his arms. There was something of a challenge in his steady stare and clenched jaw, though a muscle twitched in his smile and it hit her abruptly that this was the look he had given her at the Yule Ball when they had been alone in the common room and she waited for an invitation that didn't come. Why hadn't she noticed it then?

She would have said Fred was almost...afraid...

The plan formulated at the back of her mind and Hermione fought off a smile as she lifted her chin, hands on hips, surveying him with her best impression of Prefect authority. "And what if I said I can indeed tell you apart, Frederic Weasley?" she challenged. "What if I knew – for whatever insane reason it was – that George let you go in his place for the second task, or that it was you who went with me to the Ball –?"

She stopped short then when Fred leaned forward and met her lips with his own.

Surprise flickered at the back of her mind, but she didn't protest his sudden advance. It was no more than a chaste kiss, an exploration past the barrier of friendship with his lips hard and warm on hers. Too soon he pulled back, perhaps conscious that he hadn't given her the chance to get a word in edgewise. Hermione lingered, her eyes half closed, her lips slightly parted, lost for words.

Fred ran his fingers up along her temples, brushing her wispy hair back from her face. "God, I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Hermione bit her lip and, without thinking, the whisper slipped out. "Me, too."

She didn't wait for the waver of surprise to leave his expression; she reached up and buried her hands in his thick hair, pulling him back down against her. This time she tugged tentatively at his lower lip, and Fred didn't need more of an invitation. His hands settled against her hips and he walked her two steps backward so that stone pressed against the back of her robes as his tongue slid across her lips and he kissed her more firmly still. Hermione closed her eyes and let the never forgotten taste linger on her tongue.

It had been too long.

She didn't have to pretend to fall in love all over again.

When they at last broke apart, somewhat regretfully, Hermione kept him held against her with her fingers tangled in his hair.

"Why didn't you?" she queried.

"What?"

"Why didn't you try before?" she asked, the question that had plagued her for two months rising at the back of her mind. "I told you everything at the Yule Ball. Why didn't you -?"

"Because I bloody well thought you liked _George_," he laughed roughly, and before she could stop him he leaned in and kissed her again.

"I do," she professed when he'd allowed her to breathe once more. His expression flickered and she corrected, "But only as a _friend_."

Fred's brow furrowed and he gripped her sides tightly. "And him? What's he think?"

"He's your brother. You tell me." Nonetheless she smiled and assured him, "But really, we're only friends, Fred."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, slightly put out now, "what was I supposed to think? You always had your heads together about something... You never talked to me like that..."

"I didn't know you wanted to." Her breath hitched slightly over the words.

"Well, now that I think of it, I don't mind when we're not talking, either." His breath teased her cheeks and Hermione closed her eyes, regretfully aware that she had to cut this off.

"We should go find that Butterbeer," she mumbled. "Otherwise they might start to wonder about us."

Fred jolted out of his reverie. "Yeah – yeah, we should." He leaned past her to tickle the portrait of the pear, and Hermione heard it click.

"Ladies first," said Fred, offering his hand.

They stepped into the grand Hogwarts kitchens, and even if she had been there before Hermione couldn't help a small gasp to see it all again, so much larger than in her recollections. Four long replica tables stretched the length of the low room, loaded with emptied plates and golden goblets. In the far corner of the room, a fire roared in the hearth, keeping the room as warm as if they were in the Gryffindor common room seven floors overhead. House-elves scurried underfoot, and their appearance brought two elves hastening over, one still clutching a stack of dirty dishes.

"What would the young Master like today?" squeaked the almond-eyed elf holding the dishes.

"Some more Butterbeer would be brilliant," Fred said, looking around with his hands on his hips.

"No problem, Master Weasley, no problem at all!" beamed the elf and both scurried off, nearly tripping in their eagerness to serve them. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Fred.

"Master Weasley?"

"Hey, if that's what they want to call us," shrugged Fred. "We come down here all the time to nick food. They get us anything we want." An elf hurried past their knees, clutching a toppling bowl of fruit that loomed above his floppy ears and woollen hat. Fred reached out and snatched an apple off the top of the pile, shining it on his sleeve as Hermione gasped.

"What? It's not like I'm stealing –"

"_Dobby_!" Hermione cut him off in astonishment. The house-elf whirled about, nearly flinging the most precariously stacked of his fruit at Fred in the process.

"Yes, Miss," Dobby beamed, "Dobby can be helping you?"

Hermione leaped at the opportunity. "Dobby, my name's Hermione, I'm a friend of Harry Potter."

Dobby at once dropped the bowl of fruit in his enthusiasm to shake her proffered hand. "Dobby knows Miss Hermione! Dobby is waiting months to meet Harry Potter, Miss, Dobby is wanting to thank him!"

"Hang on," muttered Fred, scratching his head. "How does Harry know-?"

Dobby answered him gladly, his wide eyes shining. "Harry Potter is rescuing Dobby two years ago, sir. Dobby is working for bad Malfoys when Harry Potter frees Dobby! Dobby owes Harry Potter his life, sir!"

Hermione's heart lurched at those earnest words. All too suddenly she had a vivid mental image of Dobby's equal display of determination as he rescued her, Harry, and Ron from Malfoy Manor, and of a lonely grave on the hillside above Shell Cottage. Hermione's throat tightened and she squeezed Dobby's hand.

This time, I promise you won't have to make that sacrifice for us. This time, we won't make that mistake.

"I'll bring Harry to visit soon, how's that?" she promised, pleased that her voice came out warm and even. Dobby beamed gratefully and his wide eyes filled with tears.

"Harry Potter's friend is too kind – just like Harry Potter himself –"

She heard Fred snort none too subtly behind them, but she ignored him as she watched Dobby scurry off again with renewed exuberance, apparently forgetting completely about the apples left spilled around Fred's feet. At that moment the two elves returned with a crate of jingling bottles between them.

"Thank you very much," Hermione told the house-elves. They beamed and squeaked about it being _no trouble, Miss, no trouble at all_.

Fred hefted the crate under his arm and glanced around. "Nothing else you can think of, Granger? Something you'd like yourself?"

"No, thanks," she protested, gingerly steering him away from the fruit rolling precariously underfoot.

"You sure? They can make you more jam tarts, if you like. Look, you'll even know I didn't tamper with them this time."

Hermione blushed to think that he had remembered that exchange back in November, and shook her head as she led the way toward the portrait hole. "Let's just get back upstairs, all right?"

"Do you really hate my company that much?"

She rolled her eyes. "Much as I've enjoyed this, people might start wondering if you've kidnapped me."

"Now there's an idea," Fred mused aloud.

Hermione huffed, but considering the heavy load he was carrying, she only lightly punched him in the arm.

"Try it, and we'll see where _that_ gets you."

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>So, my romance scenes need more work. Any and all concrit will be gladly welcomed. :)<p>

Please review!


	17. Sirius Business

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warning, warning, bad pun alert.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16 – Sirius Business<strong>

After the great rush of relief that followed from the two of them having survived two-thirds of the Triwizard Tournament, George began to wonder what he was going to do with himself until June twenty-fourth. The third task remained an unwelcome thought on the horizon, and George was uncomfortably aware of the fact that last time it had ended with Voldemort on the loose and Cedric Diggory dead.

Cedric, he could almost say for certain, was safe; he himself was another matter, since he was currently walking in Cedric's footsteps.

When the worrying became too great, he resorted to poring over the Marauder's Map for long hours at a time, reading forward in time and pondering how much they could get away with. Was it too soon to try rekindling the DA? Should he try confronting Harry about preparing for the third task?

In the end, he would surrender, rolling up the Map to go to bed with his head pounding and his mind swimming with questions. He couldn't place the subtle shifts this time around that didn't seem related to his or Hermione's influence: he was certain he hadn't done anything to encourage Harry toward his approach in the second task, and Hermione had sworn herself away from cheating. Nevertheless – by some miracle – he had discovered the secret on his own, with maybe more than a little push from Seamus.

How far could they stretch the string of time? How much longer until events warped from what they knew – and then what use would they have for their future knowledge?

Thus, rubbing irritably at a brewing headache, he headed back to the common room one evening, a week after the second task. He found Fred and Lee in a corner, working on some particularly dire Transfiguration exercises. He dropped onto the couch next to them and withdrew a bit of crumpled parchment from his bag.

"Come to suffer with us, have you?" Fred muttered around the quill in his mouth.

"Already finished," George brushed him off distractedly, pausing after the greeting in his letter. Distantly he noted both Fred and Lee had abandoned their homework to stare at him.

"All right, that's it. You're spending too much time with Hermione Granger," accused Lee. "You're no longer one of us, mate."

George glanced up. "What? Because I actually did my homework for once? ...You're the one off his rocker..." He returned to the letter with a frown.

Fred exchanged a glance with Lee, shrugged, and leaned over George's shoulder. "What's that? Writing her a love letter now?"

"Yes, Fred, because I frequently profess my undying love to your girlfriends. Shut up."

Fred ignored the flatness of his tone, tilting his head. "Oi..." he said suddenly, and yanked the parchment from George's hands. "You're writing _Perce_?"

"It's worse than we thought," said Lee. "He _has_ lost it."

George ignored them, holding out his palm. "Give me the letter, Fred."

Fred threw his hands in the air. "All right, George, spill. What the hell're you on? And where can I get some?"

"It's a letter. A polite form of conversation. It's hardly the end of the world." George was running low on patience and his temples throbbed painfully. He wrenched the parchment out of his brother's hands while Fred shook his head mournfully.

"Why, George, why?"

"Because he's related to us, in case you haven't noticed." George grimaced at a jagged line of ink that was entirely Fred's doing, and rummaged in his bag for a fresh sheet. "And since he's a Hogwarts alumnus, he probably has a good idea of some useful spells for the third task."

"..Oh," said Fred. Though his expression was still disgruntled, Fred wisely knew not to argue about the third task when he knew well enough that George had been having nightmares about it for the past week. He sat down again, fiddling with his abandoned quill. "Why don't you ask Bill? He's a curse-breaker, he probably knows loads more."

"Yeah, I'll ask him next," said George vaguely, starting over. After a few silent minutes he checked over his writing, brow furrowed.

_Hey, Perce –_

_Life as usual here at Hogwarts. Fred and I are working on the third task – we have no idea what it'll be until a month beforehand, so we're brushing up on our defensive spellwork right now. As sixth years we don't know quite as much as we'd like, so we were wondering if you might know any particularly useful seventh year spells – for dueling and such._

_Thanks._

He assumed Fred didn't want his name on the letter. His words weren't entirely a ruse this time, though, George thought as he scrawled his name at the bottom; he, Fred, and Lee had been practicing various spells in the evenings, the three of them tearing apart the dormitory in their fervent mock duels to the annoyance of their other roommates.

Pocketing the letter to bring to the Owlery later, George now leaned over Fred's shoulder to read over his messy writing; his brow furrowed. "That's not how animagi transformation works."

Fred made a noise in his throat that suggested he didn't care and resumed writing. George shrugged lightly, "Your loss." He glanced around instead for something else to do while they were finishing.

"Hi," a breathless voice greeted; Hermione had ventured toward their corner, a flush to her cheeks suggesting she'd just hurried upstairs after dinner. George grinned in return.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Hermione opened her mouth when Fred said in a panic, "All _right_, I'll fix it!" Hermione blinked and looked at him strangely as he fervently scratched out a paragraph of his essay on human transformation.

"Ignore him," George said lightly. "I finished my work early, aren't you proud of me?"

"Very," she said dryly. "Can we talk?"

George left Fred and Lee to their pressing work and followed Hermione to a quieter section of the common room. "You're looking decidedly dastardly today," he remarked when Hermione turned back to face him, eyes gleaming. "Something I missed?"

"Rita Skeeter's article about me in _Witch Weekly_." She paused, beaming, "It hasn't been published. In fact...Viktor Krum's unexpected and confidential relationship with Miss Angelina Johnson made the cover!"

"Oh," said George, vaguely recalling Angelina and Alicia conspiring over a magazine throughout class that morning. "I suppose that's a good thing?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"All right, yes, that's great." George shook his head. "I am very glad your reputation is intact. How's that?"

Apparently appeased, she nodded and distractedly swiped at a bothersome strand of hair loose from her ponytail. "In any case, I wanted to remind you, tomorrow's a Hogsmeade trip. Harry's meeting Sirius at two o'clock."

George sobered at once. "So what are we gonna do?"

"Well," she drew a breath, "I was thinking that neither of us will go."

His eyebrows shot up. "Come again? You'll have to explain yourself, Hermione, I'm not quite as brilliant as you."

She huffed at his words, but smiled slightly nonetheless as she reiterated, "I said that we won't go down to Hogsmeade with everyone else. I need you to make an excuse to stay behind and meet me at the Whomping Willow at half past one. I'll get us Harry's cloak."

"Sounds like a date," George grinned. "And don't worry about an excuse..." He dug in his pocket and showed her a handful of purple candies. "These are confidential prototypes. We won't even think of them for another three months."

When Hermione smiled and nodded they headed back to the corner of the room; Fred glanced up when George flopped back down next to him. He glanced up at Hermione.

"You don't want to talk to me?"

Hermione leaned her arms against the back of the couch, smiling down at him. "All right, _darling_," she said sweetly, "what should we talk about?"

Fred crossed his arms, not amused. "Well, first off, whatever it is you're telling this oaf behind my back–"

"Isn't it obvious?" George sighed and reached past him for Fred's finished essay on the table. "She chewed me out for rushing through my work and not proofreading it first. Fred, you misspelled 'metamorphosis'."

Fred ignored him; he glanced suspiciously up at Hermione, who nodded patiently. "I believe the exact term I used was 'a botched job'."

"I'm procrastinating," Fred pointed out. "You'd better chew me out for that."

"Maybe later. We'll see." Hermione smiled at him again and headed off in the direction of the portrait hole, where Harry and Ron had just made their reappearance. Fred watched her go, looking quite disappointed in his lack of influence over her.

He turned back to George. "What've you got that I don't?"

George wisely didn't answer that, burying himself anew in the essay to disguise his smirk.

* * *

><p>"You know, it makes me wonder why Fred and I never thought of this," George muttered as he ducked a low-lying beam, crossing the musty lower floor of the Shrieking Shack. He heard a huff from Hermione behind him.<p>

"As if you two weren't sneaking out all the time already."

"Yeah, but this'd have made it so much quicker to slip off and buy fireworks whenever we needed them."

Hermione glanced sideways at him as they drew even, and she irritably swiped a cobweb from her hair. "Why would you need fireworks?"

"To rid the school of toad infestations," George said innocently.

She snorted with laughter and George reached the door, pulling it open with a rusted creak and squinting out against the glare of sunlight reflecting off the melting snow. Hermione opened her bag and withdrew a long length of silky cloak; she stood on tiptoe to drape it over both of their heads. Harry's Invisibility Cloak rippled in the air before they disappeared from sight entirely.

"Let's go," she whispered, her quickened breath warm against his skin beneath the cloak. George nodded slightly and cheekily offered his arm.

Hermione and George made their careful way down the winding snowy side lanes toward Dervish and Banges. As they neared the junction with the high street, they necessarily slowed to shuffle past the groups of students wandering about, chatting and laughing. As George manoeuvred them away from a nearing group of giggling Hufflepuffs, Hermione peered about on tiptoe and suddenly nudged his side.

George followed her gaze: sure enough, beneath the bright sign for Dervish and Banges, two familiar Gryffindors conferred over a small bit of parchment, Harry with his bulging school bag awkwardly thrown over his shoulder. At that moment, they reached a consensus and set off down a side street.

A gaggle of Gryffindor girls passed in front of them, preventing them from following immediately. As soon as the coast was clear, however, George tugged Hermione in the direction Harry and Ron had disappeared, his opposite hand lingering unconsciously near the pocket containing his wand.

Soon the Gryffindor fourth years left Hogsmeade's bustling streets and plunged into the wild countryside. As long minutes dragged on, shuffling under the cloak a restrained half mile behind the blot of their black cloaks, George felt sweat beading on his brow and wondered if Harry and Ron hadn't somehow gotten lost. Then, as they delved thicker into the hills, the meandering dirt lane came to an abrupt end at the foot of a slope; a stile marked off the end of the passage, and standing sentinel beside it was a very large, shaggy black dog.

This was it.

George stiffened unconsciously, but Hermione's hand on his arm held him back. They didn't dare come any closer, afraid Sirius would scent them and give them away. After a tense moment the dog turned about, tail wagging, and led Harry and Ron over the stile.

They dared to breathe again and inched forward. By the time they reached the base of the mountain, their quarry had long disappeared between the sparsely littered trees and rocky crags overhead.

Hermione and George looked at one another, then as one threw off the Invisibility Cloak. George swiped at his damp brow while she folded it back in her bag. It was a temperate March afternoon despite the snow on the ground, but both he and Hermione were already panting by the time they started their climb.

Their path through the undergrowth wound back and forth across the slope, over precarious sections of jagged rock and ice, and if it weren't for recent paw prints crossing through the occasional patches of dirt and slush George would have gotten lost many times over. Nevertheless, when he stopped at a junction he was sure he recognized from five minutes ago, he needed Hermione to catch up to him and tell him between gasping breaths that he had to keep left.

George nodded and turned uphill, but he hesitated when she started to lag behind him again, clutching a stitch in her side. He turned back and offered out his hand.

"Lemme carry you."

Hermione glanced sharply up at him, her cheeks bright pink as she hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. "I'm fine, George –"

"I'm sure you are." He stepped down off the rock toward her and turned away, dropping into a crouch in front of her. "Get on."

"George, I'm serious, you don't have to –"

"Hey, I just want to do something nice for you, so you don't forget all about me in favour of Fred."

Hermione huffed and reluctantly draped her arms around his neck. George reached back, hooking his arms behind her knees, and lurched back to his feet. He took a moment to adjust to her added weight, leaning forward slightly, before setting off across the rocks.

"I'd never forget about you," Hermione said quietly when he'd cleared the patch of rocks and headed up between the trees.

"I know." George flashed a grin. "But it's good to know I can guilt trip you now and then."

"And here I thought you were being sweet."

He chuckled.

It took them a good ten more minutes before Hermione spotted a fissure in the rock up ahead. She pointed him back a few meters from the path, and between the trees George picked out a fair-sized boulder. He turned around and eased Hermione back down on the rock, breathing deeply when she at last let go of his neck.

He loosened his red and gold scarf and settled on the edge of the rock beside her. Hermione readjusted the Invisibility Cloak over the two of them and they watched the tunnel entrance in silence, breathing laboured.

Their patience was soon rewarded. Harry, Ron, and the great shaggy dog emerged from the tunnel, all blinking to step back into the sunlight. Sirius sat at their feet and allowed each of the boys to scratch behind his ears before they started down the path. The dog stood as still as a gargoyle until their figures had disappeared back down between the trees.

Hermione's hand closed over his; George dimly realized he was holding his breath, too, and he hardly knew what to expect anymore. When the dog turned, his muzzle twitching in the air, and trotted straight toward their hiding place, his heart started to pound frantically against his ribs.

"Snuffles, it's us," Hermione whispered, and with that she threw the cloak off both of them. The black dog froze a few feet away; then he was changing, ragged fur melting into skin, shooting up from the ground into the gaunt figure of a man. Sirius Black looked far worse than George remembered seeing him in Grimmauld Place; his robes hung off his frame, his hair fell in wild tangles about his unshaven face, and dark circles underlined his scrutinizing gray eyes.

"I told them that name five minutes ago," Sirius said, his voice hoarse but still sharp. "You've been listening, then, have you? I thought I smelled you coming – though I have no idea why you'd see fit to disguise yourself, Hermione. – Or you, George."

"I swear we weren't listening," George hastened, catching the subtle twitch of Sirius's hand to what was undoubtedly his wand pocket. He tensed, but Hermione had straightened suddenly, her eyes gleaming.

"George, I don't believe you've ever met this man, have you?"

"Er – no." George quickly scanned his memories, pre-Grimmauld Place, and deemed that was the truth.

"Then how is it he knows who you are?" she challenged.

"Hermione, you think I wouldn't recognize a Weasley when I see him?" Sirius barked a laugh, but the look in his eyes had become very guarded.

"Not when you've never had the chance to meet."

George smirked, catching on to her plan. "And that is quite unfortunate, since you _are_ an esteemed hero of mine, Padfoot."

"I don't know what you're on about," said Sirius, and his hand moved again. George caught the flicker of his wand in his hand and leaped to his feet, throwing out his arms and shielding Hermione with his body.

"Don't you dare – that's my brother's fiancée you're cursing -!"

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "I think what you two need is to spend a little more time with Madam Pomfrey," he advised, wand still levelled at George's chest. "Whatever you're playing at –"

Hermione sighed. "You can drop the act, Sirius. We know what happened at the Department of Mysteries." More quietly, she pressed, "We went there, too."

Sirius's wand arm trembled slightly, but he didn't back down. "Harry," he said curtly. "Is he alive?"

George and Hermione exchanged glances; "Yes," she professed. "The war is over; Voldemort's dead. Harry – er – rebounded a killing curse on him. It happens three years from now."

"Then why did you come back?" he demanded.

"Death Eaters. We were tracking them down when we – we fell through."

"I...I see..." Sirius lowered his hand and instead ran his hands over his face; suddenly the lines under his eyes were more prominent. "I wondered," he said hoarsely. "When I found papers about the Tournament, it wasn't quite the same... I thought I had done something..."

"That was probably me," said George with a sheepish grin. "My becoming a champion was an accident, I swear." At a nod from Hermione, he stepped down and Sirius stowed his wand.

"But the reason we've come back," Hermione pressed then, "is to change things. Voldemort died, true, but...but things didn't go well for our side, either. We lost m-many close to us..."

Sirius offered a wolfish half-grin. "You'd better come inside, then. I think you both have some explaining to do."

They spent a good hour in the cave with Sirius, recounting everything that had happened since he had fallen through the Veil. Hermione rattled it off mostly by rote with George chipping in now and then from what he remembered or had seen on the modified map: the prophecy surrounding Harry and Voldemort, the discovery of his Horcruxes, and Snape's murder of Dumbledore. At this point Sirius tensed and looked ready to march up to the castle straightaway to kill Snape until Hermione hastily explained that it had all been part of Dumbledore's plan.

From there they described the night of the seven Potters, and afterward their stories noticeably divided. Hermione retold her, Ron, and Harry's mission to track down the Horcruxes; George explained the spread of fear across the wizarding world after the Ministry's fall with Death Eaters controlling Hogwarts and daily head-hunts for Muggle-borns and half-breeds.

Throughout their tales Sirius listened in silence, his expression now and then flickering with particular pain or horror – George's missing ear, the trio's capture and the carnage resultant at Malfoy Manor – but, to their great thanks, he did not interrupt the timeline's flow.

At last Hermione tapered off, glancing sideways at George. They had reached the night of May first, 1998, and George swallowed hard as he again summoned up the memory of Death Eaters swarming the castle corridors, the screams and explosions ringing in his ear as he hoarsely allowed it to play out for them in his words now.

"It was madness. When Voldemort captured Harry, the Death Eaters finally drew back, and when we got to the Great Hall –" He broke off, drawing a shuddering breath. His nightmare burned against his retinas – those too blue eyes staring toward the ceiling – and he forced himself to keep speaking. "There were bodies everywhere, Sirius. And – and – Fred –"

He couldn't say it. It had been nearly a year, but he couldn't bring himself to voice the words. Hermione clasped his hand as George raised his head again, meeting Sirius's eye. The Marauder only nodded slightly; he understood.

"That's why."

"That wasn't all," Hermione mumbled, her own voice trembling now. "There were others...too many others that night. Colin Creevey...Professor Snape...Tonks...R-Remus Lupin..."

Sirius tensed suddenly. "I understand," he said roughly. "That's all right – that's enough." As Hermione nodded and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve Sirius drew a breath and glanced between them.

"Then what after? How did you get from that time to here?"

It was not much easier to reiterate the two months they had lived through after the war's end. Hermione was narrating again, partially because George didn't trust himself to speak and partially since he only vaguely recalled the details she brought up. Repairing Hogwarts for reopening in the fall; finding and identifying the fallen; tallying those missing and those known to be dead; suffering through the funerals. The Ministry was rebuilding with Kingsley Shacklebolt at its head, and under his command the Aurors and the remaining Order of the Phoenix hunted down the Death Eaters who had managed to flee.

George noted that she was a lot more vague concerning their personal situation after the war, but he wasn't about to bring it up.

The sky had darkened outside by the time they finished regaling him with the happenings since November. At last Sirius shifted forward and wearily scrubbed at his eyes, the motion jerky after hours of inaction.

"So, let me get this straight," he said. "In just under three months, You-Know-Who will return to power and cause all this mess."

Hermione and George nodded.

Sirius lurched to his feet with a growl. "Then let's catch him unawares! If we ambush him, stop his resurrection, none of this hell happens –"

"No, we can't."

George, who had started to nod tiredly, glanced along with Sirius over at Hermione. She bit her lip. "We've already saved your life once through time-travel, Sirius, you should know how imperative it is that _no one knows_ what we're up to."

"I know that, but why not stop him ourselves?" George said edgily. "Sirius's right. We stop _him_ coming back, there's no war." His thought lingered unsaid:_ If there's no war..._

"Do you really believe that stopping him this one time will deter him from trying again?" Hermione spoke quickly and firmly, as if she was explaining some fundamental law of magic in class. "No...or don't you remember when he went after the Philosopher's Stone in our first year? This is hardly the first time he's tried. Who knows how many desperate attempts he went through up until this year. If we stop Voldemort in June, he'll find another way to come back, and he'll likely be even stronger for it. Without Harry's involvement, we can't kill him."

"Hermione..." George pleaded with her. But she ignored him, standing up abruptly and pacing the cave, her brusque footfalls slapping against stone. Once again she was as grimly resolute as she had been poring over the events on the Map early in the year.

"Listen, the only advantage we have is that we know his next move and we know his weakness in that form. We have to let Voldemort come back in order for Harry to destroy him. We need him to come to power," she reiterated unwaveringly. "Well, no – we need him to think he can come to power. It's the only way. We'll destroy his Horcruxes, we'll make sure we're ready to fight, and we'll let him think he's as good as immortal. But when he comes into the open, that's when Harry can kill him."

"Harry's not ready," Sirius said grimly. "No offense, of course, but from what you've told me it sounds like he won on sheer nerve alone the first time around. If you're asking for war again, Hermione, he's not ready to kill a man in cold blood."

"I know," said Hermione, and this time she hesitated. "If...if there was some way to get around it, I would gladly take it. But I've run through our options, and this is our best hope. I can't predict for certain what would happen if we prevent his return in June. What if he comes back even more powerful than before, and we create a worse future for it? What if we're killed – what use would everything be then?" She stopped in her pacing and stared George in the eye, her voice softening. "We've been given a wonderful, terrible chance. We can change everything – but if we do too much, or just too little, we could lose everything. We can't count on a third shot. Our precision can't be less than perfect; there's too much at stake."

George held her gaze, sensing the silent plea in her eyes. He nodded and consciously unclenched his fists. "Right...it'd be too much of a risk..."

Sirius looked between them, his expression grudging. "I'll trust you know what you're doing," he said at last. He still didn't look entirely satisfied, but he sank back down on the edge of the rock.

Hermione breathed deeply and looked meaningfully at George. "Then...then we only have three months to get ready for him."

Offering up a half-grin, George turned back to Sirius. "In which case, Padfoot, we have a favour to ask."

"And I think I know what it is." Sirius's wry smile came back. "Give me a list of where they are and those Horcruxes are as good as gone."

"They're nasty things, though," Hermione warned. "You can only destroy them with irreversible magic –"

"Hang on." George rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a bit of parchment. "Why don't we just show you? _I solemnly swear that I am up to good_," he commanded, tapping the parchment with his wand. A sort of reminiscent, pained look flashed across Sirius's face.

"That's not –?"

"Oh, yes, it is, and yes, she did," George said grimly. "Believe me, I tried to stop her."

"What do you find so wrong about 'up to good'?" Hermione admonished, exasperated, but the two wisely did not respond. George prodded the parchment again and the scrawled list of Voldemort's Horcruxes bubbled to the surface. Sirius leaned in as George spread out the map in front of them.

"Now," Hermione said, "we can't go after the snake just yet. He'd notice any attack on her too easily, and I can't even be sure that he's made her into a Horcrux yet. The locket you should be able to find in Grimmauld Place; the ring's at the Gaunt house, but it's been cursed –"

"It's all in here already, Hermione," George said gently. "He can read, you know."

Hermione fell silent, her cheeks faintly pink as they let Sirius read over the list by the light of George's wand. At last he sat back, scrubbing a hand over his grizzled jaw.

"I can get you the locket and the ring right away, then," he reported grimly. "No problems there. I'm assuming you can grab the diadem any time now."

"Already done it, mate," George grinned, and Hermione reached into her bag. Sirius's eyes widened slightly when she placed the diamond tiara in his hands, and he tilted it, peering at it thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't suggest putting it on," George said dryly. "Prolly cursed, like the rest of the lot."

Sirius nodded and set the diadem gingerly on the rock beside him, where it sparkled in the weak wand-light. "The cup'll be a spot of trouble," he went on more quietly, "knowing my cousin and all... I never did ask if she died, did I?"

"Mum did her in." George didn't lift his eyes from Hermione's neat writing on the map. "After..._that_."

"Ah. Good on her, then." Sirius cleared his throat and resumed with renewed jauntiness, "Well, I'm afraid I can't just waltz into Gringotts, for obvious reasons. Suppose, given time and...resources, I can get around that somehow."

"We did it last time," Hermione said grimly. "We can do it again. Not yet, though...this summer, maybe."

"And I'll be looking forward to hearing how you managed that," Sirius grinned wolfishly. "I have to regret not seeing the antics you three got up to. Fugitives from Death Eaters and the law alike, in and out of the most secure places in the wizarding world."

Hermione and George said nothing; his fists curled on the edges of the map, and sensing the shift in atmosphere Sirius backtracked.

"Right, I'm no Harry Potter, but between the three of us we'll be in and out of there in a snap. I'll think up something for us. Gringotts can't be much compared to Azkaban."

"Between you and Hermione, you mean," George offered a faint grin. "I'll just be along for the ride, thanks."

Sirius chuckled. "We'll find something for you. Maybe you can hold the cup while we're running away."

"So that's four of them we'll be rid of," Hermione said brusquely, steering the conversation back on track. "The diary, of course, we don't have to worry about. And –"

"And what about this last one?" Sirius spoke very quietly. She and George exchanged glances, and Hermione chewed at her lip.

"We can't be sure just yet," she mumbled. "That's why we're leaving...him to last. We're hoping...we're hoping we don't have to..."

Sirius understood; he nodded solemnly and sat back, clapping his hands with an abruptness that made George jump. "I'll leave that puzzle to your brains then. So, I'll recover those two for you, no problem. I'll be back by the start of June, with any luck. Depends how long it takes to find the Gaunt place. I'll send Harry an owl when I'm back, you'll know... Can I borrow that?" He indicated the map in George's hands.

"'Course." George wiped it clean with a thoughtless "Excellence Achieved", which made Sirius grimace anew.

"I can't believe you let her violate it," Sirius accused, protectively pocketing the map within his robes. George shrugged.

"What can I say, she's mighty persuasive sometimes."

Hermione pursed her lips, seemingly caught between offense and amusement. "There's one more thing," she said, digging in her bag. "I'm sorry. This one won't have you running across the country, at least. Have you heard of Occlumency?"

"A bit," Sirius reflected. "Last I heard, Snivellus was teaching our young hero. I can't expect that worked out too well, though, did it?"

"You'd expect right." Hermione's lips twitched. "Never mind. We plan to get to him first. Harry needs protection and I'm sure Professor Snape didn't help matters nearly as much as Professor Dumbledore would have hoped. In the meantime, this is for you." She produced a rather large and ancient-looking book from her bag; Sirius grimaced but accepted the tome without protest.

"_Occlumency: the Subtle Art of Self-Preservation_. Charming," he said, raising a succinct eyebrow at her. "I'll have a busy few months, I suppose?"

"It's no laughing matter. We can't let anyone know what we've been through or what we plan to do," Hermione rattled off, and George was suddenly vividly reminded of her time as a Hogwarts Prefect telling the two of them off for torturing first years. "We know Professors Dumbledore and Snape are Legitimens for certain. We don't know about the rest of the Order, but it wouldn't surprise me if Pr- Moody is one, too. In any case, George and I have been working on it since November. You've got to protect yourself, too, especially if you'll be helping us hunt Horcruxes –"

Sirius held up his hands. "I'll learn it," he said genially. "I wasn't arguing with you. Will there be a test, Professor Granger?"

"Don't give her any ideas," George said dryly. Hermione huffed at him and he grinned, allowing his gaze to wander to the entranceway of the cave. The sun was already sinking behind the castle on the distant horizon.

"We should get going," he realized. "The feast's probably over already, they'll be wondering –"

Hermione nodded and they both rose; George winced to stretch out after crouching on the cold stone for so long. He felt a sudden rush of sympathy as he turned back to Sirius.

"Thanks for this," he said with no lack of feeling.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione concurred. "It's been months, and...and it was wonderful to see you again, Sirius. We haven't been able to talk to anyone else like this. Thank you for your help."

"Don't mention it," he waved her off. "It's about time I did something useful for you all. Though, I do owe Bella a good curse, too." His lips twitched, but neither Hermione nor George had the strength to laugh at his remark.

Before they could take their leave he opened his arms and drew them both into a bone-crushing hug. "Good luck," he said gruffly. "Knowing what's ahead...you two'll need it."

"All of us do," Hermione said softly.

They left it at that.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>And then there were three. :D<p>

Please review!


	18. Seventeen, Again

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hey, I'm back! I'm a bit late on this one, sorry about that. (One word: midterms.) Fortunately for you, there's a longer chapter to make up for it! :D

Also, the Niffler line is borrowed from GoF. Just thought you ought to know.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17 – Seventeen, Again<strong>

"I swear he's trying to murder me," George grumped as he limped out of their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hissing when his left leg seized in pain. Though to his immense relief their lessons had at last veered away from the Unforgiveable Curses, that didn't stop Barty Crouch Jr's magical eye always rolling in his direction when no one else volunteered for his demonstrations.

"You'd think I'm the only one in the class," he complained, grasping a handful of Fred's sleeve as the crowd surged around them down the hall toward dinner.

"Personal vendetta?" suggested Fred with a shrug.

"Better you than us," Lee added sympathetically. "Let's face it, mate, you're the only one who's been able to hold his own up there."

"Yeah, well, I've been reading ahead – I don't have that much of a death wish, thanks." George grimaced nonetheless. While the class practiced counter-jinxes, he'd felt their Professor's magical eye fixating on his and Fred's progress far more than anyone else's; and the back of his neck prickled at that unsettling awareness. He'd spent the majority of the lesson trying not to seem too proficient at blocking the Stinging Jinx.

"What did you say about studying, Georgie?" Fred cut in airily. "You know you shouldn't get yourself into bad habits like that. It'll show on your records."

Ignoring him, George straightened against his brother suddenly, peering ahead through the crowd. "Oh, hey, Hermione!"

Fred's arm stiffened beneath him and he said quickly, "Yeah, 'Mione, we were just talking about studying –"

He trailed off, searching the students descending the stairs ahead of them for an absent bushy-haired witch; he turned back to meet George's satisfied smirk.

"Oi –"

Lee sniggered as Fred shoved George off his arm. "We'll have to keep an eye on this one, George. He seems almost a little _too_ interested in Granger, if you know what I mean."

"I think, Lee, you might be right," George said sanctimoniously as Fred glared at him.

"Stuff it, both of you."

They followed the flow of students down the marble staircase, and George was feeling quite pleased in his vengeance – served Fred right for taking advantage of his distraction and causing him to crash headlong into that desk – when they entered the Great Hall. Thoughtlessly he started limping toward where a familiar trio of fourth years were clustered at the Gryffindor table.

"...I don't blame them for trying to make some extra money," Ron's gloomy voice reached him as George sank down beside them with a breath of relief. "Wish I could. ...Wish I had a Niffler."

"Well, then," Fred interrupted cheerily, shoving George farther down the bench so he could sit next to Hermione. "You should've said something earlier. We wouldn't have shelled out our hard-earned money on your birthday present last week if we knew a Niffler'd do just fine."

"Shut it," said Ron, and his ears seemed a little pink when he stabbed anew at his dinner. "You two can't complain."

On a whim George broke in, reaching around Fred for the dish of mashed potatoes. "You know, if you really want to earn something on the side, we'll let you in on it. We could use an extra hand collecting orders."

"Galleon an hour for your efforts," Fred chipped in. "How about it? All three of you can pitch in, even."

George didn't miss the way his gaze went to Hermione as he spoke, and he covered a quiet cough. Fred succinctly kicked him under the table.

"Now there's an idea," said Ron, half wistfully. "Harry, you'd do good at that. Everyone knows your name – I bet you could sell anything."

"How much are you making?" Hermione asked the twins curiously.

"On a good night?" Fred said contentedly. "A solid fifty Galleons."

George heard Ron splutter on his roll. "Fifty?" he said when he'd swallowed, leaning around Hermione to look at them. His stuttered tone was half cross, half awed. "And you were gonna cheat us with a Galleon each?"

"Well, keep in mind most of that goes right back into buying ingredients," George corrected pleasantly. "It's not your OWL standard supplies we're using, after all. What's left over goes straight into investments."

"For what?" asked Harry.

"Well," George flashed a grin, "we won't have much of a joke shop until we've got ourselves premises, right?"

"So you're serious about turning this into a business, then?"

"Dead serious," affirmed Fred at once. "And you know, coming from us, that means a lot. 'Course, Mum still thinks she can connive us into some stuffy Ministry desk job. Like that'll happen. But it's best not to burst her bubble just yet, we've learned."

George winced to think of _that_ row still a ways off in the future, and he heard Hermione saying to the other two, "Harry, Ron – we should get to the library for that Charms essay before it gets too late, don't you think?"

The boys groaned predictably, and George bit back a grin. As the fourth years rose to leave he leaned back on the bench.

"Hey, Ron – you think about it, yeah?"

"I want two Galleons," Ron countered.

"Galleon, fifteen Sickles. That's our final offer."

"I'll think about it," Ron grimaced, and started off with Harry.

"See you," Fred said, winking at Hermione; she smiled back as she hefted her bag on her shoulder.

"You'll be nice to him, won't you?"

"We _are_ being nice to him," George protested.

"Yeah, our usual product testers don't even get paid," Fred objected. "See how generous we're being?"

But Hermione now eyed him suspiciously. "Usual testers?"

"Us," George elaborated.

"What, you think we're testing on first years or something?" Fred grinned.

"I wouldn't put it past you." Hermione shook her head, huffed back a wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes, and with a last smile headed after the other two through the doors.

"Thanks for the idea, though," Fred called after her.

George rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his cooling dinner. A moment later Fred turned to him.

"So, what do you think?"

"I'm starving."

"About Ron, you git."

George shrugged, digging into his potatoes. Fred continued to watch him. "C'mon, you just about jumped on the suggestion. What're you plotting, brilliant brother of mine?"

"High praise, Fred." George shook his head dryly. "There's no master plan behind it. Just thought...I dunno, we might as well give him the chance."

His gaze wandered the crowded dining hall, alive with the clatter of utensils and lively chatter. He couldn't quite explain what had put the idea in his head, but by the smile in Hermione's voice he suspected he'd made a good decision.

A flicker of movement caught his eye and he glanced up in time to see a vaguely familiar tawny owl fluttering down from the rafters, a large parcel clutched in its talons. When the owl coasted toward the Gryffindor table – in particular, the stretch of space between he, Fred, and Lee and the rest of the diners – George reacted. He pulled his plate out of the way moments before the package hit the table with a whump, upending Fred's dinner in the process. The owl squawked and ruffled its feathers, spraying mashed potatoes everywhere.

"Fred, did you order...?" George began blankly.

Fred pulled his goblet out of reach of the disgruntled owl, grimacing. "That's yours. That'll be Perce's reply."

George did a double take and a vague recollection of Percy's old owl – Hermes, was it? – came to the forefront of his mind. He recovered from his momentary lapse, tearing loose a neatly rolled scroll from Hermes's leg. Percy's fine script met his eye. Meanwhile Fred freed Hermes from the package, and after shaking loose the last of the potatoes from his feathers Hermes flew off again.

"What's this?" Fred said, ripping off the brown parchment. He let out an audible groan and George, distracted from his hurried perusal, glanced over.

"He sent us a textbook, the prat..." Fred muttered ruefully, opening the thick tome at random.

Lee leaned across the table. "That's the seventh year Defence book," he noted. Something caught his eye and he reached out, stopping Fred from turning the page. "Look here -!"

George looked closer with them and blinked: there were messy notes scribbled in the margins of the book next to some spells. Incredulously he read through a tip on reinforcing the flourish of the wand movement for_ Alarte Ascendare _and a firsthand warning about the blasting curse before he dragged his now piqued curiosity back to Percy's letter.

_George –_

_As a stand-in judge on the Triwizard Committee, I regretfully cannot offer you any assistance toward the third task. However, I recently had the chance to look through my old school things and I uncovered this, which may be of interest to you. It previously belonged to Bill and Charlie who, as you can see, left their marks on it. I happened to review some of the spells myself for practice, and have marked out the pages that may be most helpful to you._

_Best of luck in your continued studies,_

_Percy_

"He's actually helping us!" blurted Fred, leaning over George's shoulder to read the letter. He sat back, the amazement warring upon his features rendering him temporarily speechless. "That...that git..."

"Keep your voice down." George shot a quick look up toward the teachers' table. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but all the school Heads were otherwise occupied in conversation with their neighbours, and even Barty Crouch Jr's eye was elsewhere as he spoke with Dumbledore. Heart hammering suddenly in his chest, George bent forward with Fred and Lee over the textbook. He turned to a dog-eared page and was extremely pleased to recognize the Stunning spell at the top. Simple, but an excellent starting point for their training regime.

"Bloody brilliant, Perce," he breathed in amazement.

It was exactly what he had needed: an alibi for his precocious spell knowledge and an excuse to get them practicing their knowledge outside of class. Fred and Lee had attempted to assist in his training for the third task, but they were all growing bored of repeatedly shredding through pillows in their late-night mock-duels.

"Reckon we can try a few on the Slytherins?" Fred whispered, eagerly looking over a curse that, by the morbid illustration, appeared to make the target break out in pus-filled boils.

"Or, here's a thought, we could slim down the competition for our Hogwarts champions," argued Lee.

"Never mind that." George couldn't keep himself from grinning as he nudged Fred, distracting him from the strangely fascinating curse. "Let's ask Harry and the others if they're up for this. With Hermione's help, I bet we'll get these down in a snap."

* * *

><p>"Hey, George, you coming to the Apparition lesson today?"<p>

It was Saturday afternoon and the Gryffindor common room was appropriately packed with students doing anything to avoid studying. The table between their chosen couches was precariously stacked with Fred and Lee's game of Exploding Snap in progress, but George didn't look up from his investigation of Percy's annotated Defence book.

"Sorry..." he shrugged, turning the page. _Expelliarmus_...there was another spell they'd have to work on.

"Sorry?" Fred repeated incredulously. George looked up to notice both he and Lee were staring at him, Lee's next card hovering in hand over their built tower.

"Have you missed the fact that it's _Apparition_? As in, what we've waited to do since Bill left?"

George shrugged again. "Have you missed the fact that we still need to make up a curriculum for tonight?"

As expected, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had enthusiastically agreed to their offer to train together; though while Harry mouthed wordlessly at their apparent generosity, it had necessitated more than a little fervent convincing on Hermione's part to get him to stutter acceptance.

Fred now resembled Harry as he gaped at his twin. "C'mon, mate!" he burst out at last. "The task's, what, three months away? Can't you hold off for one weekend?"

"And you should know that's gonna go by fast," George muttered. Fred shut his mouth again indignantly, but he was wise enough not to bring up the second task. George pressed, "Besides, we can't Apparate around Hogwarts, as dear Hermione Granger would remind us, so's not like it would help me much in June anyway." He leaned back in his armchair and stretched grandly, yawning.

"You know what, Georgie, you're starting to act more and more like her," Fred declared in a huff. "One of these days we won't be able to tell you and Granger apart."

"I think I'm the one who should be worried about that, Freddie," George mused dryly, "seeing as you're currently dating her."

That shut Fred up; his face adopted an interesting shade of red and he fumbled toward a suitable retaliation, seizing a nearby textbook as Lee ducked for cover, sniggering.

"Oi! You did not go there."

George, eyeing the precariously stacked combustibles between them, heaved a theatrical sigh. "I'm sorry, Fred. I know, being the poor, hardworking, and sorely abused younger brother, that I'll always come second to the real Miss Granger in your affections."

"Hey...now you're guilting me? He's guilting me!" Fred said incredulously to Lee, who was inching away from both of them.

"You'll pay for that, Georgie."

"How about we settle that tonight, then," George said pleasantly, picking up his book in front of his face again. "In the meantime...you don't want to be late for those lessons, do you?"

Fred swore under his breath and he and Lee hurried for the portrait hole.

* * *

><p>An hour after dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione as one left the crowded warmth of the Gryffindor common room. When the fat lady's portrait had snapped shut behind them Hermione whispered, "All right, they said to meet them on the sixth floor –"<p>

Harry nodded distractedly, digging in his bag and surfacing with the silken folds of his father's Invisibility Cloak. Up ahead Ron had crept forward, peering either way for any sign of Filch or Mrs Norris.

"It's about time," huffed a familiar voice behind them. Hermione twitched but forced herself to school her expression before turning around, consciously lowering her hand from her wand pocket.

"Ginny!" hissed Ron, reappearing at her shoulder. "What're you doing here?"

The youngest Weasley stepped out of the shadows toward them, arms crossed, her chin jutted in defiance; following at her heels, bright-eyed, was Colin Creevey, who smiled upon catching Harry's eye.

"Hi, Harry! Are you really training for the third task? Do you know what it is yet?"

"Er..." said Harry. Hermione noticed him attempting to shove the cloak subtly back in his bag and stepped slightly in front of him.

"How did you know what we're doing?" she asked instead.

"Fred 'n' George," Ginny answered simply. "Anyway, we've been waiting out here a good ten minutes. Are we going or not?"

"We're going," said Ron. "But you're not invited. You're going back."

Ginny didn't move when he jerked a finger at the fat lady's portrait; she lifted her head and her eyes flashed. "I'll have you know, Ronald, that I have the highest marks in Defence in my year. Even George remembered that when he _asked_ me to come."

"A-all right, then," Ron backed down unwillingly beneath the glare all too similar to his mother's ire. "But then why's he here?"

Ginny looked at Colin and shrugged. "He overheard George and me. I didn't see why not."

"And there's no reason why not," Hermione cut in, gently laying a hand on Ron's arm. She was secretly glad to see the third years, both later members of the DA. "You know, Muggles like to say two heads are better than one. We'll work better with more people."

"All right," Ron agreed reluctantly. "But you have to be quiet – we're not getting caught by Filch because of you two." With that he turned and started down the corridor in front of them. Hermione caught Ginny's eye; she rolled her eyes slightly.

"Does he think you're the only ones to ever sneak out at night?"

"He's only trying to protect you, you know," Hermione said bracingly. "Even if he doesn't always seem like it."

"_Everyone's_ always trying to protect me." But Ginny then quieted as they reached the moving staircases, and only dragged her heels slightly as they ventured downstairs.

Somehow, they made it unobtrusively to the deserted classroom halfway down the sixth floor corridor. When the door creaked open beneath Ron's hand, they found Fred, George, and Lee already waiting on them.

"And here we were thinking you got lost," George said cheerfully, hopping down off his perch on the edge of a desk and withdrawing his wand. As Colin closed the door behind them he announced, "Well, down to business then?"

"Yes, please," answered Hermione with a long-suffering smile.

"Right, so Hermione and I worked out a few spells we might try over the following weeks," George explained. "Might I add, with no help from those two over there." Fred grimaced at him.

"We'll start with _Stupefy_ – the Stunning spell," Hermione continued, looking around. Suddenly everyone's expressions had shifted; even Colin, who was still fidgeting excitably, had a focused furrow to his brow. "We'll have to pair up to practice – oh, and we'll need some pillows. We don't want anyone getting hurt."

"Right-o," Fred jumped up. "Leave that bit to us." And, with Lee, he enthusiastically set in to transfiguring the nearest desks into large cushions. Hermione had turned back to the younger students when the door creaked behind them. She drew a sharp breath and her hand flicked toward her wand for the second time that night. A familiar voice rang through the room.

"So this's where the party's happening, hey?"

Seamus beamed at them, followed by Dean, Neville, Parvati, and Lavender spilling through the entranceway.

Hermione breathed out and smiled, lowering her hand, and noticed Ginny's gaze followed the movement.

"Let me guess," said Ron, half exasperated, half amused, "the twins invited this lot, too."

"Nah," Seamus said brightly, joining them while George locked the door. "Word travels fast. We heard the great Harry Potter was training. How could we resist taking a look?"

"What, nothing about the Holey George Weasley?" George reappeared at their shoulders with a grin.

Seamus looked up at him. "Yeah, that too."

Hermione cleared her throat. "We decided to try _Stupefy_ tonight. It's a fifth year spell, but I know we can manage it all together. It's a jabbing motion – like this – and the spell itself, of course."

She caught a few nods from the gathered crowd. "So, a demonstration before we get started?" suggested Fred.

"Excellent idea, Fred," said George. "Come here, will you?"

Fred eyed the wand in his twin's hand apprehensively. "Actually, I was thinking of someone more like Granger here. She's not gonna try to kill me. Probably," he added, looking around guiltily at Hermione.

Hermione smiled tightly. "Well, I suppose two of us have to do it. George?"

He inclined his head. "After you."

They stepped warily out onto the pile of pillows created in the center of the room. The other students gathered around them in a semi-circle, uncertainly looking on. Hermione drew her wand; George dropped into a low bow and she fumbled to repay the formality, somewhat more stiffly. They raised their wands simultaneously, but George glanced back at their silent audience.

"So, watch carefully. We're only gonna do this once. Like Hermione said, it's a quick wand motion, but you've gotta concentrate to make it count. Like this."

He turned back and steadily met Hermione's eye, wetting his lips as he raised his wand again.

"_Stupefy_!"

For a moment, neither moved; then in a faint rustle George keeled back onto the readied pillows, rigid as a board. Hermione breathed out shakily and lowered her wand to a smattering of applause.

"Oh – thank you." She smiled absently to herself, pleased at how her reaction time hadn't changed after months of reprieve. "Er, we'll divide into pairs now and practice on our own." As the other students broke off she went to revive George.

Fred followed her while she crouched over his twin. "You know what, Granger, I'm very glad you're on my side. I might even survive now."

Hermione bit her lip, touching her wand to George's temple with a murmured "_Ennervate_"; then, recovering her wits, she blinked back up at Fred.

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."

Fred flashed a grin.

"Hey. No flirting in front of me," muttered George, shuffling up on his elbows. Hermione raised an indignant eyebrow.

"He's being cheeky, that's what's going on."

"I'll take care of that, then." George picked up his wand and lurched to his feet with a faint grunt.

"Are you all right?" Hermione pressed as George raised his wand on Fred.

"Fine. I wasn't exactly expecting that, 's all." He grinned sideways at her, sheepishly, before focusing back on Fred. "Now, then, I must defend the fair lady's honour from your horrid influence."

"Shall we duel for her affections, then, brother of mine?" Fred challenged, also raising his wand. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes.

"What an excellent idea, Fred. But first..." George had been distracted by the nearest duellists and strode in the direction of where Ginny stood across from Neville, a little uncomfortable due to his previous efforts at stunning her having ripped apart the pillows to either side.

"Ah, Neville, let's have you shape up your aim with Hermione," George interceded, steering the two in different directions. "There's a good chap. Gin, let's have you with the great Harry Potter here."

Hermione looked on, eyebrows raised finely, as Neville and an incredulous Ron, Harry's previous partner, shuffled over to her side. George only grinned obliviously, offering Ginny a quick word before striding back over.

"You three amuse yourselves appropriately now. Meanwhile, there is blood to be shed between Fred and I."

"What did you tell her?" Hermione asked suspiciously as he brushed past.

"Oh, that," George waved her off airily, "just to kick his arse a little, really. 'Cause I didn't get the chance last time." He winked in response to her stare and moved off to where Fred was waiting impatiently.

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, George had to admit he was amazed at the progress they had made already in their nightly sessions. Considering the history they had with their Defence professors, looking back he wasn't surprised that they had been timid to curse one another during the first meeting, and spent a the largest portion of the time hastily cleaning up after misaimed spells (all the same, George was still befuddled by how Colin had somehow set fire to most of the remaining desks). It had taken several sessions before they stopped flinching from near misses; and one time Lavender had screamed and ducked, causing Parvati's spell to hit an unfortunate Dean behind her.<p>

Now, however, they Stupefied and deflected each other's attempts with confidence. Even Neville managed to go four for five against Ron after Hermione's patient coaching, a feat which had earned a short but heartened round of applause from the Gryffindors. Word spread, and soon Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and her friend Leanne joined in their clandestine meetings. When they first arrived George sensed Angelina watching him and Fred for a long time without speaking, and he had just summoned the will to confront her when she abruptly asked if they needed a hand tutoring the younger students.

George only stuttered something resembling thanks, and Angelina shot him an amused look.

All in all, the tentative initiation of the DA had exploded beyond all his expectations, and when he went around, readjusting the posture of any struggling students, he met Hermione's shining gaze as well.

Friday evening, he was astonished further when a blond Ravenclaw drifted through the door after Ginny, Colin, and Dennis as if she had happened upon them by accident. Ginny steadily matched the incredulous gazes spared in her direction. "She's my friend," she said.

No one protested Luna Lovegood's presence after that, as all were uncomfortably aware of how Ginny had been consistently and almost too enthusiastically knocking Harry out all week. One would almost say George was enjoying his method of hazing their hero a little too much.

Presently George checked the room in general and saw Fred showing Dennis Creevey how to douse the third pillow he had set aflame (apparently, combustion ran in the family), before he allowed himself to head to where Ginny and Luna were. His sister demonstrated the quick, flicking jab of the stunning spell in the air, Luna looking on with her large eyes unreadable.

George cleared his throat, coming up behind them. "Hi. Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, you could stand over there." Ginny pointed helpfully to the neat stack of pillows across from them.

"Only useful as a target, am I?" George feigned hurt but obeyed, standing poised over the pillows as Ginny stepped back. Luna Lovegood blinked at him, her eyes like moons in the gloom. She raised her wand.

"_Stupefy_," she called softly.

The next thing George knew, he was lying on the floor and Hermione was crouching over him with a smile. He blinked several times and reached up, rubbing his head.

"Aw, bloody hell. I got knocked out by a girl again, didn't I?"

Hermione nodded, fighting off a smile.

She lingered long enough to ensure George regained his feet unharmed before heading back to oversee Neville and Ron. George, still rubbing his head, wandered back to Ginny and Luna.

"You got it on the first try. That's brilliant," he grinned unabashedly. "Guess that's why you're a Ravenclaw, though."

Luna blinked up at him as if he had startled her out of a daze. "Oh. Thank you."

"I don't believe we've met, have we? I'm George." He proffered his hand.

"I know who you are." But nevertheless she placed her smaller hand in his. Her gaze rested unblinkingly on him for several moments longer afterward and George eventually cleared his throat.

"Right, Gin, why don't you see if Luna can work with Harry now?"

Ginny smirked at him before guiding her friend toward the unsuspecting fourth year.

The rest of the training session passed in a blur; more than once, George caught Luna's stare from across the room and wondered suddenly – but no, he told himself, and shook off his paranoia to reserve for more pressing targets. He spent the remaining time trailing Fred, half ensuring he didn't try anything stupid.

When at last they headed up to the common room, dark except for coals smouldering in the hearth, George remembered to finish his half-written reply to Percy. In addition to thanking him profusely for his suggestions – careful not to mention the Defence gatherings themselves – he eagerly explained that the spells were working out better than he could have hoped and that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were interested, too.

It was near the end of March before Percy sent Hermes back one morning. Fred tried to feed the owl a bit of his toast (Hermes, clearly recalling the last delivery, snapped at him) while George read through the letter.

_George –_

_I am very glad to have been of assistance. I am quite busy at the moment undertaking Mr Crouch's workload, but I managed to do a bit more research on advanced defence techniques on the side. Enclosed you will find a list of books that I believe might interest you – see if you can find them in Hogwarts's library._

_Defence is admittedly a fascinating branch of magic, though it was never quite my favourite or area of expertise. However, I will try my best to answer any more questions you may have._

_Percy_

_PS – Interestingly enough, while searching the Ministry's library I came across one of our Aurors, Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was quite impressed with what you have managed thus far in the Tournament and suggested a wit like yours would do well in his department._

George stared at that last line for a long moment, sure that he must have read it wrong; but then Fred was looking over his shoulder, too, nursing his bruised fingers.

"Did Perce just call us witty?" Fred asked numbly.

"No, he called _me_ witty," George recovered, digging in his bag for a fresh roll of parchment. "You're still not speaking to him, remember?"

"Oh, yeah... Next one you send, tell him I liked the spells, too."

George rolled his eyes. He composed a quick reply, stating that although being an Auror sounded fascinating, he and Fred had other plans in mind for their future (he deemed it best not to reveal these plans included leaving school partway through seventh year and opening a joke shop in Diagon Alley). Out of curiosity nonetheless he dropped a few questions for Shacklebolt, including how Aurors tracked down persons who used Unforgiveables and if they thought any of You-Know-Who's supporters might still be out there. Professor Moody, as an ex-Auror, he explained, had quite an influence on them.

He ended the letter by curiously asking about the Patronus charm, which he couldn't find anything on in their textbooks, and he swore Professor Lupin had mentioned it once last year. George glanced over his work quickly, double-checking that he didn't give off an impression of knowing any more than he should; he cheekily added "Fred sends love" to the bottom, signed his name, and handed off the letter to Hermes, waiting with his leg outstretched.

As the owl fluttered off, George wondered. He had never noticed it before, but Percy was a lot like Hermione in his zeal to know everything about a subject once he had been given the proper push toward it. He never knew, George mused wryly; maybe getting Percy to brush up on defending himself wasn't a bad idea, either.

* * *

><p>March whirled itself away in a blur. The coating of snow had nearly melted off the grounds and the giant squid finally dared to bare its tentacles to the brisk air by the time April rolled around. There were eighty-five days left until Voldemort's revival when George woke up on their birthday.<p>

He lay for a long moment, staring at the burgundy canopy over his head. He could hear the other boys rustling about in the dormitory, but he was content with not moving just yet. To think he was only turning seventeen now; even after all that had happened in the last half year, he felt a hell of a lot older than twenty-one, nevertheless seventeen. He closed his eyes again and tried to summon up some sort of enthusiasm.

Sirius would be happy.

They'd be free to hunt Horcruxes now during the summer months. Though, that was only if he happened to survive the next task. And breaking into Gringotts, without Hermione's help, was somewhat daunting.

It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on first thing this morning, anyway, and he rolled over.

They were legal now.

If history held any truth, he and Fred would be celebrating appropriately that night down at the Three Broomsticks. His hazy recollections also involved a fair amount of Angelina Johnson, so, come to think of it, maybe it was better if history didn't repeat itself.

Besides, he hadn't been able to keep firewhisky down since a particular ear incident, anyway, and now didn't seem like a good time to try again.

A tapping at the window disrupted his thoughts, and shortly a pillow impacted with his head, courtesy of Fred. "Oi, Georgie, wake up!"

If Fred was wakeful this early in the morning, then their presents had to be here. George sat up with a yawn, dragging a hand through his rumpled hair and blinking as Fred and Lee let a small flock of owls into the dorm. Immediately Errol keeled over onto his bedspread, a large package tied to his feet; after experimentally prodding him, Fred assured George that he was still alive, and he turned his attention to the rest of their visitors. Hermes perched on the bedpost, preening, alongside Hedwig's snowy-white form, Pig, and an unfamiliar dark owl. Two larger owls loomed on the stand across from them.

After liberating Errol from his burden, Fred tore into the packaging and George joined him. Hermes hooted reproachfully overhead as Fred at last removed the top of the package. "Brilliant!" he beamed.

Their mother had send them a very large birthday cake with slightly smudged frosted letters in yellow and blue: _Happy Birthday Fred and George._ Their names had been partially squished together to fit on the cake. George turned his attention to the accompanying letter while Fred took it upon himself to test the icing.

_Dear Fred and George:_

_I can't believe my twins are seventeen and adults already (don't be getting any ideas, now – you still have one more year of school!) No matter what path you choose next year, know that your father and I love you very much and we are proud of you._

_It seems only yesterday that you were learning to tie your shoes or riding your first broomsticks. I still remember the day you went aboard the Hogwarts Express the first time – you were so excited then. But now look at you, almost finished school already; George, you're Hogwarts's champion. You've both grow up so very fast._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

Suddenly it came back all too vividly: their mother's last Howler, following the announcement of the champions; the tension and the family rows that would haunt the Burrow in the coming years after Percy's departure; and the same echo of disappointment when he and Fred took their leave. And that, of course, was followed by the fear: that feeling in the pit of his stomach that only lessened slightly every evening when none of his family's names rang out on the radio's daily tally of those missing or dead.

"Oi, George, why're you crying?" Fred bounced onto the bed on his knees beside him, jarring the mattress; George shook his head irritably.

"I'm not... I'm not crying." But nonetheless, scrubbing at his eyes, he was unable to stop himself from launching himself at Fred in a hug.

"You're such a pansy, you know?" Fred said, half crossly, but he reached around his brother and gruffly hugged him back anyway.

Sometime later, George got a hold of himself and they shortly tore into the rest of their presents with great enthusiasm. Fred didn't notice when George quietly folded and pocketed the letter. Lee had given them each a fresh box of Doctor Filibuster's No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks; Harry and Ron had supplied them with a large collection of Honeydukes sweets; Bill had sent them a few carefully packed vials of rare powders and ingredients from Egypt with the warning 'Don't tell Mum'. Charlie's note read, 'So you're legal now, hey?' and accompanied what looked to be a small crate of – just George's luck – firewhisky. The dark owl carried a letter with a simple note, 'Congratulations', and two sleek eagle quills.

Examining the quills, Fred said, "This wasn't from Percy, was it?"

George, who would recognize that scrawled font anywhere, fought off a grin. "Not his owl, is it?" Nevertheless, he pocketed the quills for later study, suspecting Padfoot had something a little more interesting in mind.

Upon investigation, Hermes proved to be also carrying a small parcel from Percy, containing four Galleons and a note.

"_I trust that you'll buy something I'll wholeheartedly disapprove of with this_," Fred read off the note. "_Just don't tell Mum it's from me. Congratulations and best wishes._" He glanced around at George, grinning. "I suppose this is thanks to you."

George shrugged innocently.

They enjoyed a breakfast of cake in the dorm, wasting ten minutes refusing to share any with Lee until he threatened them with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. Knowing from experience how skilled he was with that particular spell, they conceded a slice of cake.

They had just finished and were debating the benefits of heading to class today when the door opened and Hermione came in, beaming, clutching two rectangular packages.

"I thought I might find you up here," she said breathlessly, venturing over to them. She made toward Fred, noticed he was still licking icing off his fingers, and opted instead to kiss George on the cheek. "Happy birthday," she said, pushing the present into his hands. "It's not much, but I hope you like it."

"Thanks," he said in surprise. "You didn't have to get us anything, you know."

"Hey, where's _my_ kiss?" interrupted Fred, looking between them.

"Where's my cake?" echoed Hermione, setting her hands on her hips in a perfect mirror of his aghast appearance.

"Er – we should still have some left, if George didn't eat it all." Fred lunged for the box on the bedspread, making Hermione shake her head and grin.

"Never mind – unlike you, I have to get to class in a few minutes."

"How'd you know we're skiving?" Fred returned with the package in hand, which was indeed empty.

"Because you're not nearly as subtle as you think you are?" she suggested, cocking an eyebrow. "You've practically made it tradition."

"Point taken." Fred tilted his head. "But aren't you gonna chew us out for neglecting our precious education?"

Hermione considered. "Well, I think you and George have been working exceptionally hard lately, so who am I to stop you from taking a well-deserved break?"

Fred stared at her as if he'd never met her before. "Blimey, that might be the nicest thing she's ever said to us, George. I think I'm in love."

"Thank you. You're sweet, but you really need to work on your compliments."

George pretended to look the other way while Hermione kissed Fred, also on the cheek, and handed him his present. "Now, open them, both of you." She perched on the edge of the bed and peered at the mess of wrapping they'd made with an amused smile.

"This wouldn't happen to be a book, by any chance?" said Fred, weighing his in his hands. Hermione gave him a rather stern look.

"Open it first."

They did: George uncovered _Destroying the Dark Arts_, and a quick flip through the pages revealed several intriguing counter-curses that he was sure weren't anywhere in the school curriculum. Their nightly forays might be getting interesting instead of serving as a constant review the early days of the DA. "Thanks, Hermione."

"'Mione – er – I think you got mine mixed up," said Fred. George glanced over to see his twin peering bemusedly at _Self Defence and Why You Need It._

"Oh, it's a Muggle book," Hermione said matter-of-factly. She met George's eye and grinned before hopping off the bed. "I thought it might be interesting to contrast with what we're practicing. I got it for you, though, because it has pictures."

George snorted and attempted to disguise it as a hacking cough. Fred glared at him.

"Thanks, 'Mione... I think I know who I'll be using this on..."

Judging by the vengeful look in Fred's eyes, George deemed that it might be a good time to reinforce the wards around his bed at night.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>George is counting down the days.<p>

Yeah, Harry's five-man Gryffindor band is back. :D I love writing about more minor characters in the series. The possibilities are fun, you know?

A lot of smaller but nonetheless necessary plot threads in this chapter. But as George knows, the third task's just around the corner. :)

Please review!


	19. Weasley is our King

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: It's back. :) Looks like I'll be updating every two weeks for a while.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18 – Weasley is our King<strong>

Mid-afternoon on Easter found the Gryffindor fourth years clustered in the common room, taking advantage of the extended break to play a few rounds of chess. Unsurprisingly, Ron currently led a decisive three game streak while Harry searched the board for some course of action that wouldn't entail sacrificing one of the pieces gesticulating furiously at him.

"Knight to...B3," he determined at last. This piece burst out angrily against him.

"Not there, not there! Are you blind? Can't you see his queen? Send _him_, you can sacrifice him –"

"You want a fight, you mangy cur?" bellowed the rugged castle in question.

Harry glanced across the chessboard haplessly, meeting Hermione's eye. She shook her head in faint amusement, settled comfortably in the armchair between them with _Means of Magical Defence_ in her lap. She had finished her spring reading already and had moved on to researching new spells for their nightly sessions.

"Hermione?" he said hopefully.

"Go on," she answered, fighting off a smile. "We can switch after this game."

"You hear that? She'll put up a fight, at least," Harry told his mutinous chess pieces.

"Oh, no, I'm no better than you, really," objected Hermione, but she obligingly lowered her book and scanned the board with him. "Look, Harry, you could move your pawn here."

"No good. Next turn I'll be able to get to your king," Ron corrected, pointing to the threatening position of his queen in front of the pawn blockade.

"Oh, that's right..."

"Tell you what. If I were you, I'd sacrifice the knight, like Harry said; that'll leave an opening for you to get through to my king with the bishop," he further explained. Harry's eyes flicked over the board as he visualized the plays; he nodded.

"Yeah – yeah, I didn't even see that. Thanks, Ron." Harry moved the still-complaining knight; Ron crushed it with his queen, and Harry sent his bishop forward to menace the undefended black king.

"And...that's checkmate," Ron beamed, sitting back from the board.

"Four years." Harry shook his head hopelessly. "That's the first time I won, and it's only because you let me."

"Don't worry, mate. It won't go past the three of us." Nevertheless, Ron looked rather pleased while Harry shifted down along the couch, a little too relieved to move away from the chess pieces now collecting and reassembling their shattered compatriots.

"So Ron's still the reigning King of Chess, is he?" a cheerful voice rang out overhead. George flopped down on the couch next to Harry and surveyed the game board in front of him with interest.

"'Course he is. Can't give up the crown now," added Fred, walking around the back of the couch and depositing a gaudy golden crown on his younger brother's head. With a wink to Hermione's bemused expression, he sank down on the arm of her chair.

Ron pushed the overlarge jewelled crown out of his eyes.

"What the hell's this -?"

"New prototype," said Fred matter-of-factly. "Vanishing Hat, version one. We figured you'd like it."

"Vanishing Hat?" repeated Harry, trying but failing to refrain from grinning at Ron's new headwear.

"Yeah. Supposed to make your head invisible and all, with a few shielding charms just in case your mates get ideas and try to throw stuff through your head. We haven't worked out all the bugs yet, though." Fred stretched grandly, settling one arm across the back of the armchair. Hermione was suddenly conscious of the brush of his sleeve against the back of her shoulders and cleared her throat.

"Bugs?"

"Yeah...so far, if you wear it too long you break out in not-so-invisible spots."

Ron very quickly flung the crown down on the table, and the twins sniggered.

"You can't go around using anyone as a test subject, you know," Hermione warned with a sidelong glance at Fred. "Especially if you don't know the full effects –"

"No worries," he grinned back at her. "The spots are harmless, we think, and George figured out how to remove them. Anyway." He nodded to his twin, and George reached into the bag at his feet. "These just came from Mum. We thought you might want them."

George pulled out several football-sized shapes in bright foil, and he tossed one to Ron, then Harry. Ron unhesitatingly tore off the top of the orange wrapping, revealing a chocolate egg.

"Brilliant," he enthused, breaking off a large chunk. Then he hesitated, however, and his eyes narrowed. "You didn't tamper with these, too, did you?"

Fred heaved a sigh. "Really, would we stoop so low as to curse your presents?"

"Yes," said Harry, Ron, and Hermione as one. Fred closed his mouth and, seeming to have taken great offence to their lack of faith, sat back with his arms folded and a somewhat pitiful expression fixed in place.

"There's one for you, too, Hermione," George said brightly. Hermione merely stared when he placed the robin-egg-blue package in her hands, and for all her astonishment conveyed, she expected it to open up and start screeching at her. Without warning she felt warmth brewing behind her eyes and she blinked against the threatening tears.

She knew it was trivial, but last time around Mrs Weasley had frostily sent her a far smaller egg in the (very mistaken) belief that Hermione was two-timing Harry with Viktor Krum. Perhaps it was because she hadn't seen the generous-hearted Weasley matriarch, who had become something of a second mother to her over the years, since she had departed from the future; or maybe the way frivolous rumours shrank in light of the secret she now held from the world had brought the sudden lump to her throat.

Fred's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Good timing," he grinned across her at Ginny, who had meandered over to their cluster of couches with her battered third year Defence book. "Easter presents from Mum are here."

"Oh – thanks," Ginny said distractedly, tucking the proffered egg under her arm. "I was wondering, Harry, if you could help me for a minute? Only, I know you're really good at Defence," she hastened.

Hermione glanced up while Harry appeared to be momentarily overwhelmed. She knew Ginny would later surprise her family with an Outstanding Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL; and there was no question that she had been working as hard as anyone else during their nightly gatherings.

"Why didn't you ask us if you needed help?" Ron broke in incredulously. "Isn't that what we're doing every night, anyway?"

Ginny's face reddened and Hermione, in sudden understanding, intervened. "How about it, Harry? You can always come back if you need our help."

"Er – all right," agreed Harry, standing. He shot a faintly bemused glance at Ron before following Ginny to the opposite side of the common room.

"You know, I thought Gin was pretty good at Defence," Ron said, scratching his head. "Completely destroyed me last night in Disarming, anyway."

George cleared his throat, shifting to replace the restless chess pieces in their original positions. "So, how about I challenge you for that crown?"

Ron, craning his neck after the absent duo, returned to the present with a jerky nod. "Yeah, all right... You can have it, anyway. I don't want it."

George shrugged and plopped the crown back on Ron's head, despite his grimace of protest. "There, wear your kingly title with pride."

They began their game with Hermione and Fred looking on; Ron's ears reddened as several passing students shot him and his gaudy headpiece odd looks. Apparently oblivious to his disgruntled opponent, George hummed under his breath as three of his pawns fell in quick succession. The melody sounded suspiciously like 'Weasley is our King'.

George glanced over at Fred somewhat pointedly while Ron studied the board for his next conquest; apparently receiving the silent message his brother stood.

"That reminds me, Granger, you promised to help with that History assignment."

"Oh – I did?" Hermione fumbled; he winked back at her and she quickly rose as well. "Right, I almost forgot. Er – we'll see you later. If Harry asks, you know where we've gone."

Ron nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. George cocked an eyebrow suggestively as Fred and Hermione started toward the portrait hole.

"So where are we going?" Hermione asked when the fat lady's portrait had snapped shut behind them and they stood alone in the deserted corridor.

Fred shrugged, reaching for her hand.

They wandered downstairs, keeping silent and peering around corners in search of Mrs Norris's glowing eyes. After a while Fred's strides lengthened with purpose, his fingertips tracing absent patterns against her knuckles. When they ducked down a side corridor on the ground floor and approached the portrait of a fruit bowl, Hermione smiled.

"Remember this place?" cajoled Fred.

"How could I forget?" This time Hermione tickled the pear and they stepped through the secret passage into the kitchens.

Hermione and Fred waded through the crowd of house-elves scurrying about as ebulliently as ever. Several elves scrubbed down the long tables while others clustered about the sinks overflowing with bubbles; now and then one hurried off with a stack of sparkling dishes. In their midst bobbed a woollen red hat, and Hermione waved to Dobby.

"Dobby is happy to see Mr Weasley and Miss Granger again!" The elf beamed and swept into a bow. The knobbly hat fell into his eyes and he readjusted it enthusiastically. "Dobby is also very grateful for his present!"

"You're very welcome," Hermione said graciously. "You know, I'd be more than happy to make more for the others."

Dobby assured her that he would ask the other elves if they wanted hats, and he scurried off again to work. Fred coughed quietly and steered her toward the edge of the Gryffindor table replica. When they'd sat down he unwrapped his chocolate egg and broke it into two halves; a package of Mrs Weasley's treacle fudge fell out on the table.

"She's outdone herself this year," Fred said contentedly, popping a piece in his mouth. "Hey – you can eat yours, too."

Hermione sat staring at her own egg, chewing on her lower lip. "I'm not that hungry right now."

Nevertheless, Fred broke off a small section for her and she allowed her gaze to wander the room as she savoured the homemade chocolate. She found herself enjoying their clandestine escapes to the kitchens more and more; there was always something going on, and it was too easy to let herself get caught up in the boundless energy of the small elves.

At that thought she straightened suddenly, glancing about. "Dobby?"

Out of nowhere the beaming elf appeared at her side. "Dobby can help you, Miss?"

"Dobby, is there an elf named Winky here?" she asked. Fred looked on at her in bemusement, but she didn't miss Dobby's hesitation as his wide eyes darkened slightly.

"Yes..." he said more quietly, fidgeting with his bony hands. "Dobby knows of Winky, Dobby is tending to Winky. She is not well, Miss."

"Can we see her?" Hermione said gently.

Dobby nodded and held out his hand. Hermione collected her egg and followed the tug on her hand, hunching slightly with their height difference. Fred trailed after them warily.

"Winky?" he repeated to her.

"Winky is staying here since this summer," Dobby explained quietly. "She is working for Mr Crouch before. But Winky is taking the new job...not well." Dobby worried with his tea cozy. "She is refusing to work. Dobby is taking care of her, Sir and Miss, because none of the other elves are wanting to go near her."

Hermione nodded, but she couldn't help a small gasp when Dobby led them to the corner of the room where a fire roared in the stone hearth; a small figure wrapped in a grungy blanket hunched in a rocking chair next to the fire, long fingers over her face.

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley came to see Winky," said Dobby bravely.

The elf lowered her hands, revealing large, dark eyes. Her face was blotchy and thin compared to those of the energetic elves scurrying obliviously about.

"Who...who are you?" Winky hiccoughed. Her eyes rested unfocusedly on Hermione.

"I'm Hermione, Winky." She cleared her throat and tentatively crouched next to the chair. "I came to see you because I heard you weren't feeling very well. I...I thought this might make you feel a little better." She unwrapped the top of the egg and broke off a generous piece of chocolate. Winky eyed the offering suspiciously.

"Why is you here to make Winky better? Winky cannot be better... Winky is a bad elf, Winky betrayed her master." Suddenly her large eyes filled with tears and she trembled with noisy sobs.

"No – no, Winky, you're not a bad elf. You're a very good elf," Hermione reassured warmly. "You did the best you could. I know you did. What happened is the past now. Look around you – look at Dobby here. They are all nice elves and they want you to be happy. Dobby's been taking care of you, haven't you, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded hopefully, but Winky only let out a loud wail.

"W-Winky cannot be like Dobby! He is a selfish, selfish _bad_ elf! Winky is wanting her master – oh, Mr Crouch is needing his Winky now." She dissolved into sobs again, burying her face in the patched blanket.

Hermione watched her in concern, chewing on her lip. "Winky, I've seen Mr Crouch," she suggested then; the elf froze for an instant, her eyes wide. "Yes – he's doing well," she bolstered at Winky's reaction, ignoring the bewildered look Fred shot at her. "He's sworn to treat all creatures better from now on." She reached out and laid her hand on the elf's bony shoulder.

Winky's eyes suddenly burned and she twisted away from the contact. "You lie! You bad, bad girl, you lie to Winky! Mr Crouch is a good man! Mr Crouch is treating Winky as she deserves! W-Winky will never work for any other than her Mr Crouch!" She howled, her eyes brimming with tears again, and suddenly flung the chocolate back at Hermione. Startled, Hermione didn't move as the elf rocked feverishly in her chair, glaring at nothing.

Though she tried valiantly, there was no reasoning with the traumatized elf. As Winky's latest fit faded away Dobby tugged on Hermione's hand, leading them away.

"Dobby is very sorry Miss Granger and Mr Weasley had to see Winky like that. Winky is very unwell," he mumbled, discouraged.

Hermione's throat tightened, but she somehow mustered her worry to smile at Dobby and thank him for his efforts, gifting him with the remainder of her egg.

The kitchens no longer seemed so warm and welcoming. "Let's go," she mumbled tiredly to Fred. He squeezed her hand and led her out into the silent side passage, where she stopped short in her tracks.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked him. "I – I was only trying to help." Unhesitatingly Fred stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her head down against his chest.

"I know you were. You've got a heart of gold, love."

Hermione's shoulders had started to shake and she held to Fred, relying on the steadying sound of his quickened heartbeat to recollect her composure.

Somehow – maybe – she had hoped to sway the elf this time. But perhaps in the split-second plan she had been blind, overconfident after the blaze of progress they'd made these past few months. Now her heart wrenched with pity for the unshakeable, wearied elf, and worry clouded her mind.

In the end, have we really accomplished anything? Can we change anything?

At the thought, she clenched her fists tighter in the front of Fred's robes.

Hermione lost track of the time that they stood there in the flickering lamplight of the passage. At last – mentally steeling herself with the resolution that she was overreacting, nothing more – Hermione summoned the strength to lift her head and smiled bravely. "Let's...let's see if Ron beat George yet."

Fred nodded, reaching for her hand again. "Tell you what," he said in sudden thought. "George and I are down here all the time. We'll keep an eye on your elf, even if she doesn't want our help."

Hermione looked up at him gratefully. "Thank you, Fred."

He only smiled and squeezed her hand as they ascended the stairs.

* * *

><p>There were fifty four days left until Voldemort's return when the dormitory door burst open at Fred's impatient shove and he growled under his breath. "We'll give you a crash course in this thing if it's the last thing I do."<p>

George grimaced while his twin and Lee frog-marched him down the winding staircase and across the common room, ignoring the curious stares sent in their direction. Fred tugged stiffly at his arm and Lee held his wand to the middle of his back, threatening the Body-Bind Curse if he so much as twitched.

"I reckon I've picked up most of it already," he muttered to his defence, wishing he'd been a bit quicker grabbing the proto-Nosebleed Nougat before Fred and Lee dragged him from the sanctuary of the dormitory. "You've told me a lot, and Hermione –"

"What about 'Mione?" Fred turned back, halfway through hauling George through the portrait hole, and in his distraction he nearly tripped over the raised ledge.

"Well," George rolled his eyes, "she's researched Apparition before. She gave me some tips."

"She never told _me_ anything," objected Fred petulantly.

George started to shrug in response and felt the warning jab of a wand between his shoulder blades. "Stop it. ...She was worried I was neglecting my education, I reckon..."

He refrained from pointing out Hermione hadn't said anything in the first place. Nevertheless George held back a grin at the struggle on Fred's face, and at last his brother settled for a miffed growl and pulled a little harder at his arm so that George had to catch himself – barely – from toppling headfirst down the moving staircases.

He raised an exasperated eyebrow. "Jealous much?"

"Shut up." Fred's ears went red. "I'm just concerned about the bad influence she has on you. Next thing you know you'll be looking at a shiny Prefect badge."

That ridiculous proposition made him snort aloud. "The world wouldn't consider. At least I can keep my head around her."

Fred's eyes narrowed and Lee sniggered behind them. "Yeah, Fred, you worry us sometimes. It's always _'Granger did this'_, _'_'Mione_ said that'_." He had adopted an overly sugary tone that eerily reminded George of Umbridge, and while they laughed Fred elbowed Lee. "She's conditioning you. Soon you won't be able to put a toe out of line, mate."

"And what a sad day for us free-minded blokes that will be," George concluded airily.

An interesting shade of red had overcome Fred's face, and this time he really did shove George hard enough that he stumbled down five steps, forgot that one was a vanishing step, and the next instant found himself straddling the landing, his left leg sunk down to his thigh in the step. He blinked up at his chortling companions through a haze of pain.

He crossed his arms and pretended to be too livid to care until Lee finally took pity on him and dragged him up by his elbows.

Shortly afterward, the three of them stumbled into the Great Hall. The doors propped open to reveal the striking absence of the usual long house tables; the chamber loomed a lot larger without them, and hoops had been set on the floor at regular intervals along the walls. Already the majority of the sixth year class milled about, apprehensively pale-faced in the glow of the floating candles. The Heads of House stood along the front of the Hall, accompanied by a cluster of Ministry officials in purple cloaks. Each invigilator had a clipboard and a quill at hand, poised to record the slightest motion with a hawk-eyed stare, and George was uncomfortably reminded of Umbridge's future inquisition.

He turned his attention from the strangers and noticed another figure off to the side, hunched over a gnarled walking stick. Barty Crouch Jr's usual glare was fixed in place, his icy-blue eye rolling erratically; at that moment it settled on George's incredulous stare and lingered there.

"Silence, now, and get in line," Professor McGonagall called crisply. The Gryffindors shuffled uneasily into a line beneath her beady gaze. Their ordering was alphabetical, George realized after Lee gave them a cheeky salute and squeezed into place after Angelina Johnson. Fred dragged George to the back of the line while a Ministry inspector swept along the row, checking off their names. He hesitated upon reaching the twins and the quill quivered over his list.

"Mr George Weasley, is that correct?"

George nodded thoughtlessly before mentally catching a flash of Hermione's disapproving stare. He straightened unconsciously. "I mean...yes, sir. Since I'm in the Triwizard Tournament I, er, I've been exempted from the lessons..."

The inspector made a small note on his scroll, his expression unchanged. Shortly he swept back to the front of the room as a minute, wiry man (George vaguely recalled the name Wilkie Twycross from Fred and Lee's tales) stepped forward.

"Today on this second of May, as you know, we will be testing what you have learned about Apparition thus far. You can expect results from today's examination by owl in two to three weeks. For those who find their results unsatisfactory, we will have a repeat test in one month – the same for those who are not yet seventeen and will not be graded today."

The Gryffindors' examiner leaned near his ear, whispering briefly to him; Twycross nodded and his stare wandered in the twins' direction. George forced a grin as the head invigilator cleared his throat. "Now divide into your houses and you will receive further instructions from your examiners before you begin. Ah – and Mr Weasley, come with me."

Fred glanced back and mouthed, "Good luck," before following the rest of the Gryffindors after Professor McGonagall and the examiner across the room. Alone, George's smirk wavered and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached Twycross.

"Mr Weasley?"

"Yes, sir."

The proctor looked over him with silver, almost translucent eyes. He was a good head shorter than George and had a genial, crinkled face. "Curious..." he murmured. "Yours is a unique situation, Mr Weasley. You are training hard, I expect, for the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Yes, sir." He hesitated and deemed it wouldn't hurt to lay out his excuses now. "But Fred – my brother – helped me keep up with the theory bit. And the focusing exercises – I think I'm pretty good at visualizing now."_ If I can withstand Hermione drilling into my head in our Occlumency training, I'm pretty certain I can focus enough to apparate, thanks._

"Is that so? Then you remember the three Ds?"

"Er – Destination, Determination, and Deliberation, sir," George recited, silently thanking the long evenings Fred and Lee had spent parroting the theory back and forth as they studied.

"That is absolutely correct. You know, Mr Weasley, it would be a fine thing to see a Hogwarts victory this year."

George wasn't quite sure what to think of that remark, but smiled brazenly. "Yes, sir, it would."

Twycross drew his wand and with a slight flick materialized a hoop on the floor, five feet or so away. "Now, then, as of course you are aware, theory is only half of the challenge. Let's see if you can apply it now, shall we?"

George blinked. This wasn't the first lesson; first, he recalled, they had to visualize themselves into the hoop without a wand, eventually building up the concentration to master the jump over weeks of practice. He remembered the pin-wheeling antics of his, Fred, and Lee's first experience, something which had sparked long debates in the common room afterward as to whether or not the instructors were simply having them on. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to argue against Twycross with those luminescent eyes lingering intently on his face.

"All right, sir." George fumbled a bit for his wand, more for show than for actual nerves. He wasn't nervous to attempt apparition again; he'd managed it on his own long months ago when he tested the unfortunately renewed underage wards for Hermione. At least, he figured, he wouldn't have to put himself through the first exercises, which had been his reason for evading the lessons in the first place. Frankly, it would take a massive lapse in his concentration for him to mirror the rest of the class's laughable initial efforts, and he didn't have enough of a death wish to ask to splinch himself that badly.

And so, with Twycross looking on, he drew a breath and gazed out at the rest of the class while he pretended to summon his focus. The houses had formed four lines along the wall, and as he watched Cedric Diggory and Montague stepped forward, wands raised, and a hush fell over the crowd as they concentrated.

George smirked and closed his eyes, blocking out the neat smattering of applause as Cedric materialized in the hoop across the room. He held his wand steadied in the air, turned on his heel, and in a sharp _crack_, disapparated.

When he resurfaced, five feet away, the applause from the Hufflepuffs hadn't yet finished; George raised his eyes and met Twycross's beaming expression. "Excellent! Excellent, Mr Weasley! And this is your first lesson?"

"I guess so, sir," George grinned back. From the corner of his eye he noticed Lee had reached the front of the Gryffindor line. They were halfway through.

"Very well, very well. I see why you are your school's champion, Mr Weasley. Perhaps you would like to rejoin your classmates?"

George wisely reigned in his initial stupefied reply, noting that maybe Fred had a point about Hermione's bad influence on him, considering his apparent current reputation as an overachiever. Best Fred didn't learn about that. He flashed a grin. "Sure, sir. But I thought I wouldn't be tested today, since it's my first time and all."

"No, no, you do not have to be graded today," Twycross assured him. "Nevertheless, I have faith if you do decide to try it."

George wandered to the back of the Gryffindor line and rejoined Fred.

"What're you doing here?" his brother muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

George shrugged lightly and stuck his hands in his pockets, mindful of his new status as a genius and Barty Crouch Jr's eye travelling in his direction. "Reckon I passed his inspection."

"No kidding. What has Granger been teaching you? We could've skipped out together."

"Well, she's your girlfriend." George paused for a beat, since such declarations usually led to vehement denial followed by Fred hitting him. "If you were so interested, you should've asked her."

"I couldn't do that," Fred said, aghast.

"Why not?"

"You're kidding, George. If I start actually asking her for help, she'll think she can connive me into studying. There's no swaying her once she starts and you know that. Best not encourage it."

George eyed his twin in amusement. "Oh, so in other words, that's what's happened to me?"

"Yeah. She's broken you in. You're tainted. You're even starting to look like Percy."

"How so?"

Fred narrowed his eyes. "Your tie's straight. Your hair's too neat. And...and you're even starting to smell like the library."

"...Fred, you're insane." George shook his head. "My tie's straight because you messed it up, so I had to fix it. And maybe I'd prefer people didn't notice my ear. And finally...what the hell, Fred?"

"See, you even have to justify everything," accused Fred as applause heralded Kenneth Towler's appearance in the hoop. As he stepped aside (the examiners scrawling away at their clipboards), Professor McGonagall glanced down the straggling line.

"Mr Weasley, you next."

Fred flashed a grin as he pushed off from the wall. "There. Now watch carefully, Georgie." He rolled up his sleeves and flourished his wand.

"Do show us how it's done, Fred," George chipped in genially.

Fred winked before he stepped forward; there was a pause and his brow furrowed in concentration. Then there was a sharp crack, and Fred disappeared.

A moment later, he reappeared on the opposite side of the room next to Professor McGonagall, and the Gryffindors started to clap politely. But George saw his brother's expression waver first and his hand went to the side of his head.

The world swung out of focus; the effort to drag in a breath anew made George's head buzz. It was too dark; too much blood spattering the cracked stone; he was falling into the dark memory, and if he didn't stop himself –

With a conscious sluggishness, as if dragging himself out of murky water, George plunged forward and seized his stupefied twin's shoulders. He forced Fred to the ground, closing one hand over his over the sticky warmth of blood welling against his neck as he struggled to work loose his opposite sleeve. Somehow he loosened himself from his robes and seized a handful of the thick fabric, pressing it against the wound. Fred made a strangled noise in his throat, thrashing against the pressure.

"Hold still, you idiot," George snapped, jamming his knee into Fred's chest to keep him still as he struggled to staunch the bleeding.

"– Mr Weasley. Mr Weasley!"

George glanced up sharply when Professor McGonagall's hand descended on his shoulder; he opened his mouth to snap back before he noticed the Ministry officials on either side, holding ready bottles of a yellowish ointment. George drew back enough for the medics to apply the Essence of Dittany to the wound. The cut seemed a lot smaller as they dabbed at it, and when the ointment soaked in and mended skin George rocked back on his heels, shaking.

Slowly – slowly – the memory faded back into that locked area at the back of his mind. Fred sat up, rubbing at the bloodstains on his neck and staring back at George, his face too pale. George couldn't meet his eye.

"Mr Weasley, are you all right?" Professor McGonagall asked, her hand still sharp on George's shoulder. "Perhaps you should see to the hospital wing – both of you. Here – Alastor, you can take them."

Fred wordlessly held out his hand, George took it, and he hauled them both to their feet. In the same dazed silence they walked from the hall, echoed by Crouch's limping footsteps. George was too aware of the stares lingering on them and merely clutched to Fred's sleeve, his blood-smeared robes hung over his opposite arm.

Fred had collected the wits to speak when they reached the moving staircases.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

George glanced sideways at his twin. Fred's face shone too pale in the torchlight, a dark patch stark against his collar, and his stomach turned over; George looked away again. "You splinched yourself."

"I know that. I wasn't the only one, either." Fred wasn't deterred, and he stared intently at his brother as they ascended the stairs. "Why'd you jump me? They always have Dittany handy –"

George's head was still spinning from the nightmare and he was all too aware of Barty Crouch Jr's footsteps clunking behind them. In no position to explain his wild reaction or to argue, he warningly clenched his grip on Fred's wrist.

"Focus next time, you idiot," he retorted flatly.

Fred was wise enough not to argue with George's tired tone. "Yeah..." he said quietly, reverting his stare to the floor as he rubbed absently at the invisible scar on the side of his neck. "...I know."

To be continued...

* * *

><p>AN:

Yeah, if you've noticed, I'm transitioning to chapter notes at the end. Easier to avoid spoilers this way. :D

Oh, Ron. He has no clue what's going on with either of his friends. If there's anyone more oblivious than Fred, it would be him. :D

And on that related note, it appears HarryxGinny's been slipping into the last few chapters when I wasn't looking. Hermione's subtle matchmaking paid off. :D I'll open it up to you guys again: what do you think of the possible addition of a (minor) pairing? Do you want more of their awkward dynamics? Less? Burn it with fire?

(How about a poll?)

And, of course, please review!


	20. Calm Before the Storm

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Happy Gred n' Forge Day, also known as April Fool's. :D

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19 - Calm Before the Storm<strong>

"He splinched himself?" Hermione echoed in a whisper.

"Yeah... Scared the living daylights out of me." George's lips twisted wryly and he dragged his fingers through his hair, unaware that his left hand lingered unconsciously over the months-old gap or that Hermione's eyes worriedly tracked his gesture. Without lowering his hands he gazed blearily across the sixth floor classroom and was ignorant to the crisscrossing eager cries of "Stupefy!" and the occasional soft thump of a sparring partner keeling over on the poised cushions, stiff as a board.

Perched on the edge of a charred desk beside him, Hermione worried her wand between her fingers. "I can imagine it did. But they would have healers on hand, wouldn't they, for the Apparition tests?"

"Yeah, they did. I shouldn't have worried, but..."

George's gaze settled on where Fred was dealing with the over-energetic Creevey brothers across the room. He was explaining something to Colin with a grin while Dennis waited to be cursed, hovering over the cushions. The younger Gryffindors' faces were shining with focus as they earnestly absorbed his words.

"You would have done it anyway," Hermione finished for him, following his gaze.

George only nodded slightly. Even with long hours into the evening separating his mind from that sudden lurch back into the nightmare, he couldn't bring himself to voice the memory to her now. Better to lock it away with the other unspoken horrors; Hermione could understand that.

Nonetheless, the recollection of hazy pale faces when he resurfaced from the nightmare – of his classmates' stares, of the way Barty Crouch Jr's luminescent eye lingered on his back long after he and Fred reached the hospital wing – sent chills down his spine and he forcefully thrust the thought behind the veil of his mental shields.

Instead he dragged out a smile and nodded toward Fred's improvised lesson.

"He's a decent teacher, isn't he?"

"Why do you sound surprised?" Hermione smiled in return.

George shrugged, "Well, even you've gotta admit, it's a wonder the three of them together didn't burn the classroom down yet. I just thought maybe you had something to do with it."

"Me?" Hermione shook her head, still grinning. "I hardly think I have that much of an influence on your brother."

"You'd be surprised," George said dryly, recalling Fred's indignant effort to push him down the stairs earlier after one too many teasing comments.

"Well…I guess he _did_ ask me to tutor him earlier," Hermione admitted unabashedly. George glanced over at her.

"Yeah? How's that working out?"

"About as well as you'd expect." An amused smile played at her lips. "I've seen what you call class notes. Were you studying Shield Hats in Charms?"

"Ah, Charms. That's our best class, you know: good old Flitwick's probably the only one who never tried to separate us or minded us brainstorming."

"Do you put any effort at all into your classes?" she asked, half exasperated, half amused.

"Now that hurts." George shook his head. "Just because we're not always listening doesn't mean we don't know the stuff. In fact, I take great pride in showing my effort, every time we're practicing. And the other day I actually got points from McGonagall for knowing how human-to-inanimate transfiguration works. So, I find your accusations a little harsh."

"There's no convincing you otherwise, is there?" Hermione huffed. "But, honestly, George, you could at least pretend to be a little more focused, for Fred's sake."

George tilted his head, watching her, and his slow smile came back as he realized her plan. "I take it back, Hermione, you don't have_ that _much influence on him."

She lifted her chin. "Watch me."

"All right, then," George chuckled. "Better go and make sure your protégé is being a good influence."

"Don't laugh," she warned as she hopped off the edge of the desk. "As I hear it, you've come over without me having to do anything. What's this about your Exceeds Expectations average, or the Apparition instructor coming up to the hospital wing to personally grant you your license?"

"Well, we all know Fred tends to exaggerate," shrugged George.

Hermione only set her hands on her hips. "We'll see about that."

He waved her off and, rolling her eyes, Hermione went over to Fred and the Creeveys. George watched from afar for a moment as Fred tried and failed to coerce her into the demonstration; then, smirking, he shook his head and headed across the room to where Harry was overseeing Ginny and Luna.

He cleared his throat as he came up beside the fourth year and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Hey, Potter."

"Hey, George," Harry echoed. "How's your side doing?"

"Excellent. Fred's got most of it covered. You?"

"All right."

They watched Ginny revive Luna from her stupor and help the Ravenclaw to her feet once more. They switched places, Ginny over the cushions now, Luna crossing a careful distance away before raising her wand.

"Listen, Potter, I've been thinking," George said absently. "About what we might start on next. If I remember right, Professor Lupin taught you how to make a Patronus last year, didn't he?"

Harry started to nod thoughtlessly before a furrow came to his brow. "George, you don't think – you don't think they'd put _Dementors_ in the third task, do you?"

In sudden understanding of his concern, George barely covered a grin. "Well, you never know, right? And, let's face it, we all heard what you pulled off last year."

"I don't know. It's really advanced magic, and it took me a long time to learn – and Professor Lupin said he was amazed at how quick _I_ was," Harry warned.

George shrugged. "But we can't practice it if we don't know about it, either. And I don't know about the rest of them, but I could do without feeling those chills again."

Harry nodded, and though he didn't look thoroughly convinced, George knew he was winning him out, slowly. "Tell you what," he determined, "we'll keep going with Hermione's schedule, and if there's time at the end we'll give Patronuses a shot. That'll leave everyone the summer break to mull over it."

"All right," Harry ceded.

George nodded and, his mission accomplished, headed back to keep an eye on his section of the room. While he watched Seamus and Dean duelling he made a mental note to step up their pace a little, now that they'd confidently mastered Stunning. Arming the future DA against Dementors was another check off his to-do list; and besides, any opportunity to push their reluctant hero toward leadership was a welcome one.

At a quarter to eleven, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaw were satisfied to call it a night. Hermione took a moment to tell them they'd start covering jinxes and counter-jinxes next week before bidding them all goodnight. The students filed for the door, leaving in small clusters furtively ducking up the corridor.

George wandered off to collect the various cushions used for the exercise, replacing them and transfiguring each back into a worn desk. The process would have been faster with a few levitating and summoning charms, but he was keeping an eye on the door, stalling for time. When only a few Gryffindors remained Fred came over to help him but, catching his eye, George shook his head.

"Go on. I'll catch up in a minute."

Fred shrugged at him and trailed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the door. George turned his back, flicking his wand at the last cushion so that it burgeoned up from the ground as a rickety desk. When the door creaked shut he turned back on the empty classroom.

His heartbeat quickened in the sudden dusky stillness and he paced to the door to lock it, just in case. He leaned against the door and wet his lips, raising his wand as he summoned up the brightest thought he could.

Fred filled his mind: Fred joking; Fred laughing; Fred bent over their product plans with a familiar furrow to his brow. The simple fact of his aliveness was enough. George's throat tightened as he clutched to that hope and barely breathed the words.

"Expecto patronum."

And then, just as it had before, a rush of warmth coursed down his right arm. Light shimmered from the tip of his wand and expanded in the air until the winding trail of mist solidified into a corporeal entity. Like a ghost it circled the abandoned classroom around him, its padding feet making no noise against the floor, the light of its pelt glimmering between the old desks.

It raced the still air before coming back to his side and for a moment George met the animal's trusting silver eyes. Its ears flicked forward and it lifted its head toward him, poised at attention with muscled flanks quivering.

George held out his hand to the Patronus that had saved his and Fred's lives a distant day in the lake; and as if understanding the whirl of thoughts that he couldn't communicate, it bowed its head in return, and his fingertips brushed the leathery muzzle.

All at once the Patronus vanished. An unknown chill settled in the musky air and George drew a shuddering breath as he instead reached for the door.

Nonetheless, the memory of that momentary contact lingered like warmth in his mind as he slipped back up to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

><p>George knew what was coming when the Great Hall surfaced in his mind. His footsteps led him down a familiar path, past the frightened, helpless faces that were nothing but a blur at the corner of his eye. He knew what waited around the next bend, but he still couldn't shut his eyes, couldn't look away when he at last stepped around his shaken family members.<p>

And then, as always, he found himself looking down at the ragged corpse. What should have been his brother, were it not for the mangled robes, the blood tracked from the part in his hair, the emptiness in his glassy eyes.

What should have been Fred.

Ice closed in his chest. George's mouth opened but his voice failed him; this was it, it was over again, they had won, but he had lost, and all of a sudden the cold clamping in his chest had him struggling to breathe...

"F...Fred..."

"George! George, c'mon, mate, wake up!"

His eyes flew open and with a heaving gasp he lurched up in bed. The blankets seized and tightened about his chest and he hung in a haze, shuddering for breath, bewildered by the flickering light in front of his eyes. Then he blinked and Fred and Lee's ashen faces loomed into view. For a moment, neither of the other boys spoke.

George wavered and fell back against the headboard, scrubbing his palms over his damp face. "Oh, God," he made out between his fingers.

"You all right?" Lee pressed tentatively. He was the one holding his wand aloft, the glow accentuating sudden shadows to Fred's face, the muscle jumping in his jaw. George's eyes went from his best friend to his brother before he forced them shut again.

He couldn't look at Fred right now.

_Focus,_ he ordered himself, searching blindly for the numbness of his Occlumency shields. Aloud, he said, "What time is it?"

"Late," Lee said simply. "We can take you to the hospital wing, though, if you need –"

"No." George finally grasped at that distant calm and draped it across his mind like a veil. He dragged a deep breath and cautiously lowered his hands, meeting Lee's eye. "No, I'm fine," he echoed and managed a strained smile. "Just...bad dream."

"Yeah, all right." Lee shared an uneasy glance with Fred, something meaningful in his gaze; but then he headed off and a moment later George heard the curtains scraping shut around his four-poster bed. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh and was aware of Fred sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

_What happened to the silencing wards?_ he wondered, certain that he wouldn't have forgotten to set them, tonight of all nights. Had the thought of his Patronus made him forget his usual precautions? If he could convince Fred to leave somehow, he could fetch his wand and check.

Nevertheless, he forced himself not to look at his brother, since he was certain that he wouldn't be able to hide the fresh pain in his eyes. If Lee had noticed, he was wise enough to let it lie; but Fred, for once, had chosen to be goddamn perceptive.

"I'm fine, Fred," George repeated stubbornly, clenching his fists against the covers. "I swear, I am."

"Liar," Fred muttered from the corner of his mouth. "Don't play dumb with me. You've been putting wards around your bed for the last half year. You think we wouldn't notice? You think we wouldn't still know you're screaming in your sleep?"

Fred's hurried, furious whisper hitched, and George heard him stumble over those last words.

For a moment, neither twin spoke; George didn't know how to answer that and absently traced the edge of the covers, worrying the fabric between his fingers.

At last, Fred broke the daze. "Whatever the hell's bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?"

George blinked up at his brother. Fred's tone had shifted suddenly, lowered with a solemnity that had been rare from Fred _then_, and certainly would have been unheard of at seventeen. But Fred wasn't looking at him, either, staring across the silent dormitory, his expression in shadow.

George breathed deeply and a slight bitter smirk twitched his lips. "I'm scared."

"About the third task?"

"...Yeah."

Silence settled over the duo. Fred rubbed at his jaw, still gazing at nothing in particular. "You don't have to do it, you know," he said, pausing as if he was mulling over the possibility even as he spoke. "I...I could do it again..."

George's wry smirk broadened. The sentiment was admirable, but there was no way in hell he'd be letting his brother put his life on the line again. Especially when it came down to confronting Voldemort.

"No, Fred. I put my name in the Goblet. I have to do this myself, I think."

Fred nodded slightly to that and, unasked, unprecedented, he shuffled closer to George and draped an arm around his shoulders, offering him a sudden heartened half-hug. "You'll be all right," he said gruffly. "I've seen you practicing. You're brilliant, Georgie, and I know you can win this thing."

If only it was that simple. George smirked and closed his eyes, leaning back against Fred's arm.

"…Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me."

For a moment Fred hesitated, and without opening his eyes George felt his twin's questioning gaze; but then the arm around him tightened, and a low voice near his remaining ear said, "I solemnly swear, Georgie."

* * *

><p>Halfway through her Astronomy homework the next evening, Hermione cast a glance at her watch, squeaked in surprise, and began hastily shovelling her things into her bag. Harry and Ron glanced up from the couches across from her, Ron raising an incredulous eyebrow as in her haste she nearly knocked over the bottle of ink and, catching it, shoved it impatiently in her bag alongside the rest of her work.<p>

"Where're you off to?"

"The library," she said distractedly, heaving her bag onto her shoulder and staggering slightly despite the lightening charm.

Harry glanced up from his star chart, from which for the last ten minutes he had been struggling to decipher why he had two Neptunes. "But we're not finished –"

"I know. I almost forgot, I'm tutoring." Hermione huffed her hair out of her eyes and started toward the portrait hole.

"Hang on," said Ron, twisting around in his seat to eye her incredulously, "since when do you -?"

"A few weeks. And I really have to go, I'm going to be late. I'll see you later." Without leaving them time for another question – of which there were many in their eyes – Hermione hurried off, her bushy hair swishing after her, leaving Harry and Ron exchanging glances in her wake.

She pushed the thought of her friends and the inevitable future confrontation from her mind when she reached the library just after seven o'clock, a record five minutes later. Clutching to a stitch in her side she slowed her stride and pushed through the doors, wearily glancing over the nearest work tables. Students gathered in huddles, poring over homework, and a long line straggled toward Madam Pince's desk with heavy tomes needed for homework.

Hermione started down the nearest aisle, looking out for an open table or a familiar flicker of red hair, whichever came first. She huffed an irritating stand of hair from her face and tried to come up with a rebuttal for when Fred teased her about her tardiness.

All of a sudden she was conscious of someone behind her; the realization had her body stiffening and she barely stilled the immediate twitch of her hand toward her wand before she felt warm breath raising goosebumps on the back of her neck.

"Well, now. I almost thought you'd forgotten about me."

Hermione turned around and came face to face with Fred. He had leaned over to speak directly in her ear and now their faces were too close, a familiar gleam in his blue eyes. Hermione didn't let the look faze her; she lifted her chin.

"Five minutes, Fred."

"Five minutes without you." He waited a beat before ruining his potential thoughtfulness with, "You know they were looking at me funny, hanging about here alone? I have a reputation to uphold, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away. "You're very welcome for your squandered reputation. Now, did you find us a table?"

Fred led her down the aisle to a more secluded alcove and he gestured her into a chair. She sat down and he reclined in the chair next to her, an arm crooked over the back.

"So?"

"So, what?" she echoed him, digging in her bag in search of the notes she'd made during their last session.

"So why were you five minutes late?"

Hermione stopped rustling through her bag and raised her eyebrows at him. "You sound like me, now."

Fred shrugged. "You're never late. A shift in the typical Granger punctuality made me worry, that's all."

"Oh, well, it's nothing." Her voice quieted. "Harry and Ron started asking questions."

"And you told them…?"

"The truth," she said firmly. "Fred, did you bring your notes?"

"The truth?" he repeated as he pulled a few rumpled pages of parchment from his bag and made a half-hearted attempt to smooth them on the tabletop.

She smiled patiently. "Yes, about tutoring. Which you seem to have forgotten about."

Fred shook his head, a slow smirk twitching at his lips. "That's not the truth, 'Mione, and you know that."

"Only in your mind," she countered flatly. "We're studying, and that's all that's going to happen."

"All right, yes, that is a truth," Fred conceded, retrieving a quill and absently chewing on the end. "So I take it they're as of yet unaware that we've done a bit more than study in our time together, as regrettably short as that might have been?"

Hermione said nothing at once to that. She recovered her borrowed copy of the sixth year History of Magic manual and flipped to the section on Goblin wars, chewing on her lip.

"'Mione?"

"You were there at the Yule Ball. You saw how Ron reacted when we were just together as friends."

Fred reflected. "I saw you run off nearly in tears after slapping me, if that's what you mean, yeah."

Hermione blanched. "Did I ever apologize for that?"

"It's all right. I need a good slap of sense now and then."

"Erm…" Hermione bit her lip. "Well, before that, Ron wasn't…very kind in his thoughts about us, let's say. I think Harry would take the news all right, but I'm not looking forward to telling Ron. I know that sounds bad, but despite that he's a good friend of mine, and I would hate…I would hate to tarnish that friendship, or your relationship with your brother." Hermione hesitated. "Actually, there's a few people I'm not sure I want to tell at the moment."

"I guess that's understandable." Fred rolled the quill between his fingertips. "But, to be perfectly honest with you, 'Mione, I disagree. Ron'll get over himself eventually. Who cares what the rest of the world thinks? As much as I like playing forbidden fruit here, what have we got to hide, love?"

He dropped the quill and reached for her hands instead. Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip without looking at him.

"It's…it's difficult, and maybe a little bit irrational. But I'm scared right now, Fred: I'm scared for George, and for Harry, and for you, and there's too much going on right now. There's too much at stake. I can't handle the publicity of a relationship right now. Does that at least make sense?"

Fred didn't answer, but squeezed her hand slightly. "It's all right if we disagree. I trust that you'll figure this out eventually, you're brilliant like that. And when you do, you can tell me. See, I'm also kind of looking forward to Mum's face when I introduce you as my girlfriend."

Hermione laughed at that, well aware of the exact speechless partially stunned, partially relieved expression in question. When she sobered again, she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Fred."

He grinned back. "So our secret is safe between us. Well," he hesitated sheepishly, "us and George. And Lee. That was sort of inevitable, sorry."

"Perhaps we should invite them to our study sessions," Hermione suggested coyly.

"Oi."

Hermione smiled and returned her attention to the open textbook in front of her. "So, shall we get started, then? You have your exam on Goblin rebellions coming up, don't you?"

Fred stared at her blankly and Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Right, what product were you inventing now?"

"Hey, in our defence, George and I have been very productive in History. We drafted these new tracker mints – completely confidential idea at the moment, by the way – basically the way it works is you get your mate to eat one and the wrapper'll track his location for you, maybe for weeks if we can get the spell powerful enough. So say you wanted to prank someone but couldn't be seen stalking them, due to restraining orders and such, or wanted to make sure a nosy caretaker didn't stumble across you setting up Dungbombs in the hall –"

"I'll just assume you're still on chapter seven, then?" Hermione interrupted pleasantly. She recognized the look in his eyes when Fred got started, and unless she cut him off now she knew she'd be spending the rest of the evening countering his reasons to coerce her into testing their products. Even if she could have, with reasonable certainty, known that trying their productions wouldn't cause any adverse effects to George's aging potion, it wasn't a venture she was particularly keen on. She'd seen quite enough of their testing over the years, thanks.

She cleared her throat. "Right…the Bloody Revolt began in 1809."

Fred didn't move to take down this note. "'Mio_ne_."

"Please, Fred."

He sighed and obediently picked up his quill, pulling up his chair so that their knees brushed beneath the table. She patiently repeated the line and waited for the scratching of his quill to still, running her finger down the page of the textbook.

"The leader of the revolution was Handburn the Twenty-First, after his failed attempt at stirring a similar revolution in 1805…"

"Hermione," Fred said as he wrote, "No offense and all, since I appreciate you doing this, but did you have to choose History? I mean, George and I agreed, there's no way we'll ever need to use this stuff in real life."

"Fred," she countered in a similarly pleasant tone, "you are aware, aren't you, that your brother has Exceeds Expectations in this class?"

"Yeah, and I regret telling you that."

"So…?"

"So, what?"

"So doesn't that mean you should at least try?" Hermione prodded.

Fred grimaced and Hermione noted with some amusement the ink smudged at the corner of his jaw. "No, not really, and don't think I don't see what you're trying to pull. It won't work, either," he added quickly, dabbing more ink on his quill.

Hermione switched tactics. "There are lots of things you can learn from the past," she argued, going back to the page.

"Yeah: don't piss off goblins. You'd think they'd learn after the first time."

"Yes, Fred, exactly like that." Hermione shook her head slightly and went back to reading. "The Minister of Magic in office at the time was McCullen…"

For a few minutes she read out the pertinent sections of the text to him, listening in her pauses to his mutterings and scratching quill. In the meantime she was content to watch him, the focused furrow to his brow, the movement of his lips, the way his leg occasionally twitched against hers. Despite his words, he was making an effort, and she appreciated it.

"How's Winky?" she asked when they reached the end of the causes of the Bloody Revolt. She waited for a response and caught the bare mumble of "How's...Winky…" before Fred stopped short, blinked at what he'd just copied down, and scratched it out.

"Oh…that Winky. Is it against SPEW policy to describe her as weepy?"

Hermione's smile faded. "No improvement, then?"

"No. George and I keep bringing her food, though, and we convinced your other little friend, Dobby, it's okay to water down the Butterbeer without telling her."

"Thank you. For helping her." Hermione bit her lip. "I – I really wish I knew what to do for her –"

"You've done enough worrying on her part. We'll handle the rest." Fred picked up his quill and gnawed at the end. "So, mind telling me how this war ends?"

"Oh – right." She cleared her throat and continued with the next paragraph. The means the wizards had used to quell the goblins made her wince – ruthlessly pillaging their underground clan houses, driving them out with the sheer power of wandmanship and taking no goblin alive; claiming the precious resources that had made them legendary and ever forcing the dwindling members of the species to take cover further and further into the mountains. It was barbaric, she thought, how wizards could proclaim such superiority over every other race of being. And yet, there were those who paid the history no mind and pledged their allegiance to Voldemort in the same way.

She caught her wandering thoughts and turned her attention back on the facts. Fred didn't seem to have noticed her voice had quieted suddenly, but while he copied the next line she raised her head and blinked around the library shelves. In the half hour they had spent working (or rather, debating working until she got fed up with him), the library had quieted. Now and again she glimpsed a student wandering past in pursuit of some book in particular.

Fred's quill had stilled and she was about to return to her reiteration when she met the eye of a dark-haired figure scanning the shelves. He offered a lopsided smile in return and strode over to their secluded table with an armload of books.

"Hermy-own-ninny, I am happy to see you again. How are you?"

"Hello, Viktor," Hermione smiled, all too aware of Fred's tense leg against hers. "I'm fine, thank you, we're studying. And how are you?"

"Very vell, thank you." He cleared his throat and looked from her to Fred's unblinking stare, and shifted the books under his arm. "Vell. I do not mean to interrupt your study. I vill see you later, perhaps?"

He ducked his head in acknowledgement and shuffled off, soon disappearing between the shelves. Fred stared after him for a long moment, unmoving.

"How much you wanna bet he's spying on us?"

"Viktor's not spying on us," Hermione objected. "He's really nice. George and I talked to him a few times." Steering the conversation back on track, she searched for her place on the page. "So...were we finished with the November 1810 ransackings?"

Fred's leg twitched against hers. "Let's – let's do this later," he decided suddenly. With that he dropped his quill and flexed his fingers. "I can't focus anymore."

"Oh…all right." Hermione recovered from her surprise and closed her textbook, gathering her bag. They left the library together in silence.

Hermione noticed Fred led them the long way up to Gryffindor Tower, along winding passageways echoing with their lonely footsteps. Her mind filled the silence with worries: Fred was always somewhat unpredictable, but an unfamiliar cloud of moodiness hung over his brow and she chewed nervously at her lip, wondering what she had done to set him off. After a lengthy pause, he decisively reached for her hand, and she summoned her wits.

"Fred," she tried tentatively, "this isn't because of Viktor, is it?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean. I don't like him like that, you know."

Fred glanced sharply sideways at her. "I wasn't thinking about that," he said, but Hermione noticed his tense grip on her hand loosened somewhat.

When they had reached the seventh floor, Fred came to a sudden stop. "'Mione, I – I need to ask you something now."

She glanced up at him. His face hung half in shadow, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Whatever was bothering him had him in the strangest mood all of a sudden, and she summoned up a brave front.

"Yes?"

Fred drew a breath and turned to face her. "D'you think…d'you think George's all right?"

Silence hung in the air between them. Hermione searched his haggard expression, off-put by the shift in topic. "All right?" she repeated uncertainly.

"Yeah… Yeah, you know, you've seen him." Fred let go of her hand to drag his fingers through his hair. Suddenly she could see George doing the same thing when the memories agitated him. "It's been like this for a while. I can't really describe it, but… You won't tell him, will you? He scares me sometimes."

Hermione didn't say anything at first; her heart had started hammering against her ribs. "It's been like this…" she repeated in a whisper. "How?"

"That's exactly it. I dunno. Sometimes he gets this look in his eyes, and he's not George anymore. It scares the hell out of me when he looks like that. You've only really known him lately, so maybe you haven't noticed. Maybe I'm the one going crazy."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again, but Fred wasn't finished.

"But it's only gotten worse lately. Or maybe I'm noticing it more. The way he gets sometimes… How he reacted when I splinched myself… You said you were scared for him, Hermione; I don't think he should even be in the third task."

There was so much Fred didn't know; Hermione closed her eyes briefly, not trusting herself to speak. They stood on dangerous ground now, and even if it had been her place or within possibility to tell Fred, she confessed she didn't know the half of what George was still going through.

Instead, she bit her lip and offered a meek, "Have you tried to talk to him?"

Fred laughed bitterly. "I can't do that, 'Mione. 'Hey, George, I think you're batshit insane.' That'll go over well. How do I know that won't send him over the edge permanently?"

Hermione seized his hands. "Fred, your brother is a lot of things, but he's not insane," she told him fiercely. "Crazy, undoubtedly. Worried about you, even more so. But he knows what he's doing."

"How do you know that for sure?" Fred asked. His tone had shifted suddenly: more quiet, more tired. She bit her lip.

_Because he's told me most of it._

_Because we both are, in the end._

These and many other things she couldn't tell him, not yet, and for a long moment she warred between their sworn secrecy and the desperate desire to reconcile the unknown haunted look in Fred's eyes.

"I guess I can't know any of it for certain," she admitted at last. "And you know him far better than I ever will. But in the time I've known him, I've learned a few things about George."

Fred tilted his head. "What's that?"

Hermione squeezed his hands reassuringly. "I know that he'll never give up. And that if you trust a little bit in him, he really can make the seemingly impossible happen. After all," she smiled, "it's kind of his fault we ended up together like this, isn't it?"

Fred blinked, thinking that over.

"So," she concluded quietly, "I don't know if he's all right now. He very well may not be. But I think he will be eventually, and we just have to trust him until then, Fred."

_To be continued…_

* * *

><p>AN:

This was supposed to include the announcement of the third task, but then I realized I was over 5.5k already and this chapter would expand to insane lengths if I tried to tie that in, too. So, that's your sneak preview for next chapter: where the plot actually happens. :P

This is more of a filler chapter, but the little things have significance, I promise. Like I said, it was supposed to get back on track with the Triwizard plotline and all, but then Fred just wouldn't stop talking. :D

As always, please review!


	21. A Twist in Time

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: This chapter is late, I know. One more final to go and I'm done. :D Also, on a more related note, yay for 100k and counting!

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><p><strong>Chapter 20 – A Twist in Time<strong>

Time, George suspected, was something he would never understand.

The hours trickled by in lectures he couldn't have been bothered to hear the first time around; then, jump-started, seconds flashed through clandestine DA meetings until he couldn't believe these were the same students who had been terrified to hit one another a few months ago. The passage of time advanced in leaps and bounds like a Muggle video when his dad fiddled with the many buttons on the remote.

And so, on the evening of May 27, uncomfortably aware of his one month left until the third task, George found himself confronted with the absurdities of time again.

It was ten to nine, and the Weasleys plus Harry were in the midst of a precarious game of Exploding Snap. George's distraction had already cost him light burns on his fingertips, but he continued to compulsively check his watch every few turns. Half of him – the half that always sounded more like Hermione – longed to be double-checking the Map for tonight's events, but that had been sent with Sirius on his Horcrux hunt, and the other half of him determined he needed this right now.

Indeed, he momentarily forgot about tonight when the stack of cards spontaneously combusted in a startled Fred's face. In between laughter and Ron gathering up the singed cards, Hermione shot them a disapproving look from where she was curled opposite with a book. Her recommendation that they get a head start on their schoolwork had been unanimously rejected.

George sat back, scrubbing his hands over his face, and glimpsed the face of his watch. Five minutes now; suppose they should start getting ready. He heaved a melodramatic sigh and rose off the couch.

"All right, Harry, let's not be left in suspense."

Harry nodded, no longer laughing as he checked his pockets for his wand. Surely the thought of the third task's revelation rested heavy on his mind; George, who knew already, had bigger issues in mind, but he supposed he had to show up for pleasantry's sake and all.

"Good luck," Ginny bolstered. "You'll tell us what it is, won't you?"

"Hey, Fred, where're you going?" asked Ron, who had been about to deal the cards for the three of them to continue playing. Fred glanced down at him and Ginny and shrugged.

"Gotta find out what the third task is, haven't I?"

"Yeah, but you're not a champion," said Ron.

Fred put a hand over his heart as though wounded by his incredulous words. "But I'm George's surrogate ear. It's my duty to accompany the champion, Holey as he might be."

George only raised an eyebrow. "My ear? Really?"

"Your moral support?" Fred tried again. "Your conscience? Your wit? Your better half? Really, whichever one you'd like."

"Bodyguard?" suggested Harry with a grin.

"Ah, I like that one." Fred struck a battle pose. "Finally, a chance to put that Muggle self defence stuff to work."

George settled for a sigh and patted Fred on the shoulder. "All right, bodyguard, let's move. The Hogwarts champions are gonna be late."

The three of them stepped out of the portrait hole and walked down the echoing corridors without speaking. Despite the presence of his "moral support", George's palms were already damp with sweat when they reached the Entrance Hall. He tried to wipe them subtly on his robes as they stepped out onto the lawn and headed in the direction of the Quidditch stadium looming in the dying sunlight.

George braced himself, but even he couldn't stop a double take at the sight of low stripes of hedges crisscrossing their old playing field. Harry and Fred weren't so restrained: Harry stared blankly, mouth open, and Fred stopped in his tracks, uttering oaths.

Near the center of the field, Fleur and Krum were waiting alongside Ludo Bagman, who was predictably beaming and bouncing on the balls of his feet. George gave Fred a small shove and they stepped over the hedges toward the three of them.

"What the hell'd you do to this place?" Fred didn't hesitate to burst out as soon as they drew level with Bagman. George turned his wince into a strained smile.

Bagman's bright look wavered. "Ah, Mr Weasley – whichever one of you his George – you know this meeting is strictly confidential, champions only."

Fred's claim that he was his "ear" echoed in his head, and George maintained his small smile. "You try to stop him, then."

Fred lifted his chin, apparently determined to be as stubborn as possible. George didn't have the energy to spare on dissuading him, and he distantly remembered conspiring blackmail against Bagman in the past, so he probably deserved Fred's attitude, anyway.

Bagman eyed the twins for a moment before shrugging it off. He cleared his throat, turning back to the champions as a group. "Where was I... Yes. As you can see, the third task is straightforwardly a maze. In June, these hedges will easily be twenty feet high, and where we stand now will be the Triwizard Cup. The first one to make it through the maze and touch the Cup will receive full marks!"

With that, he rubbed his hands together and grinned at the gathered teens; when no one shared in his enthusiasm, he lowered his hands again. Viktor was staring sullenly at the hedges by his feet; Fred's eyes never left Bagman; Harry looked a little apprehensive. Fleur tilted her head, frowning prettily.

"We simply 'ave to touch ze Cup?"

Bagman leaped at the question. "Well, my dear, there will be obstacles, of course. Hagrid has been kind enough to provide us with a variety of creatures, and you can expect there will be spells –" At that George caught Harry's eye and winked. By the way the fourth year straightened his shoulders, he didn't feel any regret for the evenings slaving over spellwork, either.

"And I almost forgot: you'll be going into the maze in order of point totals, so, Harry, that means you'll be first, followed by Mr Krum, Mr Weasley, and Miss Delacour. But you'll all be on even footing in the maze, depending on how well you can handle the obstacles. Well? Should be fun, eh?"

By the looks on Fleur, Viktor, and Harry's faces, none of them were enthused by the task ahead, either. George let out a long breath and slung his hands in his pockets. Getting through to the Cup won't be the worst of it, he thought grimly.

"All right, then?" said Bagman when no one answered this time, either. "If we don't have any questions, we'll be off to the castle. Don't want any of you getting chilled, now, do we?" He chortled, though no one else did, and set off jauntily for the edge of the pitch. The rest of the champions took that as their signal to leave. George let them meander off, turning purposefully for the opposite end of the pitch with his jaw clenched.

Now that the preamble was over, he had to track down a certain Mr Crouch before he was murdered.

It took him a few moments to realize Fred wasn't following his tense strides; that was probably a blessing, as he wasn't sure how he'd explain his unnatural precognition to Fred. Best if he went with Harry and got both of them out of the way. George checked over his shoulder nonetheless.

And swore under his breath.

His brother wasn't walking with Harry, who had drifted away from the stadium on his own; instead Fred was tailing Ludo Bagman like a bloodhound. Like a bloodhound nearly upon its prey, if the echoing resonance of his voice was any indication.

George hissed through his teeth, changed course, and jogged to catch up with Fred and Bagman.

Stupid Fred. Stupid Fred had to have remembered the git still owed them their money from the World Cup, which already seemed eons ago to George. Stupid George for forgetting Fred's grudge amid the mess of other pressing things and the reminder that they'd soon be earning that money back a hundred times thanks to Harry.

When he reached the pair, George sensed his brother's temper was already nearing its boiling point.

"_Busy_? Avoiding us is more like it!" he growled, redoubling his paces to keep even with a very obviously flustered Bagman. "Now give us our money. We're sick of playing nice."

"Now, boys, really," Bagman said with an uncomfortable chuckle. He glanced back to include both of the twins in his look. "I told you before, you're too young to dabble in gambling. What would your mother think -?"

"We're seventeen," Fred overrode him furiously. "We're legal. We rightly earned that gold off you, so we'll be taking it, thanks. Leave our mum out of this."

George's fingers twitched. They were partway across the sloping lawns now and he found himself looking off toward the edge of the forbidden forest. Maybe it was only his mind fooling him with a flicker of motion between the twined branches. Either way, they were wasting time; he wondered if Fred would forgive him if he accidentally Stupefied him now.

But, George reasoned, even if he knocked out his brother, he'd still have Bagman to contend with, and he wasn't sure who would be more irritated by his ploy: Bagman or Fred.

"I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this later. Ah – Harry – a word, if you don't mind!" And with that Ludo Bagman hurried to catch up with the fourth year, oblivious as Fred snarled behind him and plunged his hand in his robes for his wand.

Almost too late George snapped out of his thoughts and seized Fred's wand arm. His brother shook with rage beneath him as George struggled to divert his wand toward the ground.

"Fred, you _idiot_, d'you _want_ to get expelled -?"

"That sodding bastard," Fred muttered. "I'm gonna – I swear I'm gonna –"

But George didn't pay him any heed, yanking hard on his sleeve and dragging him forcefully toward the forest. It wasn't until they had ducked under the first reaching branches that Fred wormed his arm out of George's grip and blinked blankly up at his twin.

"...What are we -?"

George hissed to silence him and padded over the crackling cover of leaves, wincing at that bare noise. "I saw something," he offered in a whisper.

"Saw something?" Fred echoed, but he had mercifully lowered his voice and now trooped in George's shadow, ducking beneath spindly branches. "Like...?"

Sensing he wouldn't get much farther without a full inquiry, George stopped in his tracks and blew out a breath. His eyes still scanned the darkness ahead as he muttered, very quickly, over his shoulder to Fred. "I thought I saw Mr Crouch wandering around here. Remember, he was a judge in the first task?"

"Perce's boss, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"But," Fred tilted his head, "what's he got to do here? I thought he was sick, 'n that's why Perce replaced him."

"Exactly," George said grimly. "That's what I want to know."

Clearly, anything that was lying in wait in the forest would have already heard their approach, and so George withdrew his wand. With an uttered "Lumos" he stepped cautiously between the trees, sweeping the wand-light across the forest floor. Tangled roots, choked plants, a set of what was maybe centaur tracks flickered back at him.

If only he had the Map; but that was with Sirius, likely halfway around the world. If only he'd thought to ask Hermione how she'd copied it in the first place... In fact, they could probably each use one...

Behind him Fred breathed a low oath and his fist seized the back of George's robes.

"Over there."

Something in his tone made the back of George's neck prickle and he turned about, following Fred's outstretched wand toward the base of a thick willow. The light in Fred's fist bounced jarringly over the slumped figure of a man in ragged robes. A hat lay a few feet from a pale hand.

George closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth. "Shit."

When he reopened them, Mr Crouch was still lying lifelessly beneath the tree. He was face up, eyes wide and glassy as they stared intently at something invisible overhead; his lips were parted and his hand outstretched as though, in his last instants, he had been about to call out in recognition.

George touched Crouch's still-warm wrist, but there was no need: he was obviously dead.

"Shit," he repeated weakly, rocking back on his heels. What now? Time had fooled them again. He had to get back to Hermione...let her know that Crouch Jr was still out there, his father's blood on his hands. She would know what to do.

Without a second thought he pointed his wand off through the trees and silently called on another spell. A faint glow of silvery light flared from the tip of his wand and shot toward the castle.

"What was that?" Fred asked.

George shook his head, staggering back to his feet, and seized Fred's wrist. "Never mind. Got to get away from here."

All he could picture at the moment was Barty Crouch Jr lurking in the shadows, possibly watching them right now, possibly thinking that the one who already had an unnatural aptitude for Defence now knew a little too much.

Fred didn't move. "Why? Shouldn't we tell -?"

"Don't you think that whatever killed him could still be out there?" he snapped. That got Fred moving: they lurched through the trees, bumbling through crackling branches, running flat out to get out of the choking darkness. Now and then George shot a glance back over his shoulder, scoring the tangled undergrowth with the glow of his wand and half expecting to catch an electric-blue eye glinting back at him.

He and Fred didn't stop running until the heavy doors had slammed behind them and they stumbled into the torch-lit Entrance Hall. Fred leaned up against the wall, gasping, as George finally loosened his grip on his brother and instead pressed his trembling hands to his knees.

"The Killing Curse," breathed Fred.

George glanced up sharply. In the light of their wands, sweat gleamed on Fred's brow.

"That's what it was," he continued, drawing a breath. "Looked exactly like Moody said in class...remember?"

"Yeah..."

If Fred had also realized that this meant there was a killer loose on the grounds, he didn't say anything to that effect. They lingered for a moment to catch their breath, and George's mind raced. What now? Clearly, they had to tell someone – Dumbledore, maybe –

There was a clatter on the marble staircase and he straightened, lifting his wand; Fred, he saw, tensed at the same instant he did. Both of them only stared, however, when Hermione hurried into view, ashen-faced in the light of their wands; and trailing after her, looking somewhat puzzled but sombre, was Albus Dumbledore.

"'Mione?" Fred asked incredulously. Hermione's eyes widened as she took notice of him standing back in the shadows; she glanced quickly back at George.

"I told them to wait here, Professor." To George, she said, "It's all right. He believes us."

Fred had opened his mouth, looking between them in bemusement, but Hermione stepped toward him under the pretext of taking his hand and gave him a look that quite clearly said, _Shut up_. George had to privately admire her when Fred, in fact, obeyed without question.

He took a deep breath and glanced up into Dumbledore's steady blue gaze. "Should we...should we show you where we found him, Professor?"

"I believe that would be best," Dumbledore said quietly. In a rare occurrence, George noted, the habitual twinkle in his eyes was gone. He diverted his gaze to the ground as he nodded and headed back out the doors, Fred and Hermione trailing after him. She was trembling as though she had been in the forest with them, and Fred held tightly to her hand.

"Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said as he swept along beside him, "do forgive me for asking, but I must: how did your discovery of Mr Crouch's death come about? As I understand, you were with Mr Bagman this evening."

"Yeah, I was. But Fred and Hermione came down," he hesitated and despite himself a wry grin twitched at his lips, "to give me moral support. We were heading back to the castle when I thought I saw something strange by the forest. So we came looking, and we found him like that."

"They sent me to get you, Professor," Hermione added.

"A prudent choice. I see."

Dumbledore's luminescent eyes lingered on him, and George was suddenly reminded of the headmaster's capabilities as a Legitimens; he forced himself to keep his eyes on the forest up ahead and reinforced his mental shields. He could only pray that Fred wouldn't give away the fact that they were lying through their teeth.

George led the way through the trees by the light of his wand, retracing their path by the broken branches and disrupted tracks. Well, he thought grimly, if Crouch Jr was still out and about, he certainly knew they'd found the body now.

Then, out of the gloom, his wand landed on a pale sprawled form. They stopped short and Dumbledore crouched over the body; George stayed near enough to light the scene, but Fred hung back, his arms around Hermione. George looked back down at the dead man whose skin glowed ghostlike in the dusk; his pale eyes seemed to bore straight into George's face. Then Dumbledore sighed deeply, the crinkles in his face much more prominent in the light of George's wand, and very gently closed Crouch's eyes.

"We will need," he said quietly, "to fetch Alastor. In the meantime, I am sure that this has been a long day for all of you; you should head back to Gryffindor Tower and sleep if you will, or ask Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught. Of this incident...tell no one as of just yet. There are unseen ears that may be listening."

Dumbledore rose wearily and withdrew his wand, sending a light flitting through the trees. Fred opened his mouth.

"Professor, who – who d'you think could've done this?"

Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, and the look in his eyes was sad. "I do not know, Mr Weasley. I may have many guesses, but without answers, it would not be wise to voice them."

They left Dumbledore in the lonely clearing, and when the glow of the headmaster's wand had faded between the trees George breathed out shakily.

"You heard him...let's get back upstairs."

They wasted no time in escaping the forest, crossing the too open stretch of shadows toward the main entrance, and trailing up the rumbling staircases. Not a word had been spoken by the time they reached the fat lady's portrait, and Hermione broke the silence with a flat, "Doldrums."

The portrait hole snapped open and they stepped inside. George blinked in the glow of the fireplace: a few clusters of students were still about, bent over their studies or enrapt in games. As they crossed the chamber Lee stood from a chess match against Kenneth Towler and loped toward them, looking eagerly from Fred to George.

"Well? The third task, what is it?"

"Tell you tomorrow," George said flatly.

Lee looked between them again, bemused, but he also noticed the grim mood hanging over them, and nodded. "Well...all right. G'night." He headed back to his chess game, well versed in letting the matter lie.

George glanced back at Fred and Hermione. "I'm –"

"– Bed," Fred finished for him.

"Yeah."

Hermione nodded and quickly kissed first Fred, then George on the cheek. "Let's get some sleep," she agreed as she withdrew, "and try to make sense of this in the morning."

And so it was in a subdued silence that Fred and George headed up to their dormitory. Without speaking to Fred, George flopped down on his four poster and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Time was strange, wasn't it?

A man was dead a second time around.

Who knew if the same thing wouldn't happen in June?

George flung his pillow over his head and forced himself not to think on it.

* * *

><p>Friday morning, George awoke from a new nightmare. Voldemort faced him in the darkness of the forest, his red eyes agleam and his skin porcelain-white under the moon. The dark lord hissed, taunting him with a cold voice he hadn't heard since the night of the last battle. A flick of his skeletal wand and Fred lay in front of him, glassy-eyed and dead.<p>

Flick: Hermione's mangled body.

Flick: Ron, cold and pale from the poison.

Voldemort laid out his family in front of him, cackling in response to his helplessness.

_What can you do to save them?_ He demanded with eyes crinkled with malice. _They are mine. They always were._

_What can you do?_

George staggered downstairs, puffy-eyed and ashen, and was assured by Hermione's weak half-smile at the Gryffindor table that she hadn't slept very well, either. Fred was oddly quietly between them, picking at his toast, and George had to wonder if he had started screaming in his sleep again.

The post owls arrived in a flock, and George's stomach turned over. He watched like a hawk as Hermione unfolded her _Daily Prophet_, her brow slightly pinched. But the front page headline was, _Irish Cauldron Smuggler Snatched_, and after scanning the rest of the pages Hermione carefully folded the paper and shook her head slightly.

George breathed a little easier after that.

In Defence, they continued to practice counter-curses as Barty Crouch Jr stomped the room, magical eye rolling. The crags in his face seemed to have deepened overnight and George overheard Patricia Stimpson whispering anxiously to Alicia that he was almost moodier than usual.

If anything, that made George sharpen his concentration on their exercise, and he dodged the stray stunning spell sent his way as Fred and Lee eagerly cursed the hell out of each other. He couldn't help but notice they had improved immensely over the course of their nightly gatherings, and a quick survey of the class was enough for anyone to realize they were performing on a different level than everyone else. They cast and deflected in tandem, not sparing a breath between skirmishes; and of all the groups, their aim was dead on.

Save, of course, the occasional spell they sent George's way to ensure he wasn't getting bored watching them.

A small grin tugged at his lips as he watched Fred valiantly dive away from the Jelly-Legs Jinx, crashing into a desk in the process. Lee didn't give him a chance to recover as he hit him with the jinx anyway, and Fred's attempt to lever himself up against the edge of the desk wound up with him flat on the ground again, legs twitching.

"Nice one, Lee," he complimented. "Now that's what we need when Fred's ego runs away with him."

"Oi!" Fred called from the floor as Lee grinned broadly.

"Wonder how attractive "'Mione" will find you now. Better hope she likes slugs," said Lee, tilting his head as Fred attempted to crawl toward his wand.

George chuckled and became suddenly aware of a presence at his shoulder; he tried not to flinch when he glimpsed Barty Crouch Jr's grizzled face bent over his gnarled cane.

"Nice Patronus, Mr Weasley," he growled under his breath while Lee was busy taunting Fred. "An ibex, was it?"

George's mind raced. He forced himself not to turn to their Professor in astonishment; he bit the inside of his lip and pretended to be equally fascinated by the one-sided duel.

"Thanks, sir. Harry taught me, see...he had a bit of trouble with the Dementors last year, and our old Professor taught him the spell."

"You have quite a natural talent, yourself. Throwing off Unforgiveables... Advanced magic like the Patronus charm... One might think you have a future as an Auror."

George laughed as he pushed his Occlumency shields to their maximum. "I don't think so, sir. Fred wouldn't have the patience for all the extra training."

He glanced sideways now; Crouch's eyes had left him and settled on the duellists. George for some reason didn't like him looking at Fred with such consideration. "Besides," he hastened on, "I don't have the marks for it."

"In Defence, you certainly do," growled Crouch. "And if you pay half as much attention in your other subjects, I don't see why you wouldn't. I've heard from other students you've taken an interest in what's outside the curriculum. If you needed any help in your...studies, you shouldn't hesitate to come see me."

What was he planning?

George couldn't read the searching gaze of the electric blue eye and forced his stare elsewhere. This conversation was giving him the chills. "Thanks, but..." he managed vaguely when a sharp rap on the door came to his rescue. Professor McGonagall swept into the room, tight lipped and looking very worried; duels stopped in progress as she passed.

"Alastor, I'm afraid I have to borrow Messrs Weasley," she said, laying a hand on George's shoulder. "The headmaster wants to see both of you."

George's heart flipped and sunk down somewhere near his stomach. This, he knew, was about what they had seen last night. Fred had apparently recovered use of his legs as he strode over, looking from McGonagall to George, and a familiar muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Very well," grunted Crouch. "Ah – there'll be no homework for you two, either."

"Thanks, sir," George stuttered, all too glad to hasten from the room in Professor McGonagall's shadow. She herded them along to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office and gave it a curt, "Cockroach cluster." At once the gargoyle sprang aside, the wall sliding open to reveal the rotating staircase.

"Go on, now," Professor McGonagall told them. "And don't look at me like that – you're not in trouble, yet."

Fred and George exchanged glances; Fred shrugged slightly and stepped onto the stairs first, George a heartbeat behind. When the stairs rumbled upward out of sight of Professor McGonagall and brought them to the closed door of Dumbledore's office, they heard an echo of an angry voice inside. Fred knocked, and the speaker fell silent.

The door opened of its own accord. The first thing George glimpsed was the cluster of people standing around Dumbledore's desk; then his eyes fell on a familiar red-haired figure, and despite himself his mouth dropped open.

"Percy?"

"What're you doing here?" demanded Fred, stepping around George. Percy glanced up from his seat in front of Dumbledore's desk. His robes were dishevelled as if he hadn't had the chance to change since last night; there were dark shadows beneath his eyes when he offered them a strained smile.

"Fred, George... I should have guessed." He continued to worry his rumpled hat between his hands.

At last Dumbledore spoke up, settled behind his desk with his hands steepled in front of him. "Thank you for coming, both of you. These two were the ones to discover Mr Bartimus Crouch last night," he added to the onlookers in general. "Do sit down."

Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured two more chairs in front of his desk. Mechanically, Fred and George sat. George tensed on the edge of his seat, his eyes travelling the surrounding group. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, grim and gray-faced; the imposing Kingsley Shacklebolt who, unbeknownst to Fudge, would take over his job in a few short years; two aides with their quills scrawling at their books; and slightly in Fudge's shadow so that George overlooked her at first, a plump woman in a horrid pink cardigan...

George's face drained of color as he stared into the gleaming eyes of Dolores Umbridge. She clutched a clipboard, her quill zooming across it with no visible assistance on her part, and a smug smile quirked her lips.

"Why're you here, Perce?" Fred asked again, more quietly. He hadn't noticed Umbridge but frowned toward Dumbledore. "Listen, Professor, we already told you everything we saw –"

Fudge stepped forward. "The circumstances under which Mr Crouch's body was discovered are suspicious enough," he intoned, his expression somewhat strained. "Firstly – that it happened here at Hogwarts, considered by parents to be one of the safest places in Britain to send their children. Secondly, that it should have happened late at night, when the only two on the scene are these – these boys with a rather noticeable record of their own."

At that, Fred nearly jumped to his feet but for George seizing his sleeve at the last instant. "Are you bloody well accusing _us_ of killing him?" he demanded.

Fudge gave a short, unnatural bark of a laugh. "Young man, I am merely pointing out the facts –"

"We are here simply to reach the truth about last night's events," Dumbledore interceded quietly. "I must ask that you tell us everything you saw – everything you might have noticed – once more. We will lay no judgment on anyone until we have the truth."

Thus the twins told their story again: the meeting on the Quidditch pitch with the champions, George noticing something in the forest, and their arrival at Mr Crouch's body. Fred didn't dispute George's version of events, for which he was very grateful. He continued to watch Umbridge from the corner of his eye, and his stomach turned over when her smile sweetened.

"You see," Dumbledore concluded when they had tapered off, "it is exactly as I explained."

"Very well, very well, Dumbledore." Fudge cleared his throat. "Now, there is only the pressing matter of _who_ could have killed Bartimus. It would have been impossible for them to leave the grounds – not without disturbing the wards around Hogwarts, and I daresay you would have noticed something if they did, Dumbledore. Then –"

Fudge looked back at the gathered Weasleys. Fred glared at him; George tightened his grip on his sleeve. "– Then it seems quite clear to me –"

"Mr Crouch," Kingsley Shacklebolt broke in with his deep voice, "was killed by the Killing Curse. It has been confirmed by my department. If you suggest what I think you do, Minister, then you believe children would be capable of such a dark feat of magic?"

"N-no, of course not," Fudge spluttered. "All I am saying is that the murderer clearly had someone assisting him on the inside!"

George felt something cold clench in his chest as the Minister of Magic went on, his voice quickening. Behind him, Umbridge's sickening smile had widened.

"If you want a motive, gentlemen, lady, there is plenty enough to go on here: Bartimus Crouch was head of a very significant department of the Ministry, a position of understandable power... Of these last few months Bartimus's health was failing him, and he had his personal assistant charged with the majority of his duties. Now, in the current circumstances, I am sure even Mr Weasley here would admit he is the most fit to take on Bartimus's position."

Percy said nothing.

Fred spoke up, haltingly. "You... You're here to accuse our brother of murder..."

Fudge ignored him. "Until now, Bartimus was also the fifth judge of the Triwizard Tournament – in which, _incidentally_, the younger brother of his assistant is competing..."

"That's ridiculous," snarled Fred. "You don't know Perce, he loves his job, he'd never sell out like that –"

Behind them Umbridge's smile broadened and George hissed, clenching his fist tighter in Fred's sleeve. "Fred. Shut up."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said quietly, "that is quite enough. We had agreed not to make any accusations in this room."

Fudge no longer looked strained and uncomfortable now that his plan was laid out in front of them; the look in his eyes had turned cold. "Perhaps not in _here_, Dumbledore, but there will be plenty of time in court."

"_In court_?" Fred repeated furiously. "There's no evidence against him! None!"

Umbridge coughed. "And how would you know that?" she tittered with poisoned sweetness. "Young man, you'd best watch your tongue. We can very well bring you two in as accomplices."

"Accomplices -!" Fred made another attempt to rise from his seat, but George trod very firmly on his foot. Glancing sideways at his twin he shook his head slightly.

_You're only making things worse._

"Dolores," Dumbledore interrupted, "I can very well assure you, as I have before, that these three young men are innocent; I will say it in front of the Wizengamot, if need be. As Mr Shacklebolt can certainly tell you, last night's crime was clearly the work of dark magic beyond the three of them. In fact," his voice had lowered, the look in his eyes sombre, "I am sure all of us know who is to blame."

"For Merlin's sake, Dumbledore, not this again! Not every bit of dark arts is the responsibility of – of You-Know-Who!" Fudge burst out. "I can assure you we would all know by now if he was back! In any case, how can we report _that_ to the _Prophet_? They'll have a field day! A man has been _killed_, Dumbledore, and I swear, we will tell them why!"

_Even if it's a lie to cover your sorry arse, _George thought stormily, and shot another glance at Umbridge's sweet smile.

"There is very little I can do to help you in that regard, Cornelius, I am afraid," said Dumbledore. "But in the meantime, I feel we have kept these boys long enough. There is clearly no reason to keep you here; the three of you may go."

Fred, George, and Percy rose from their seats. George maintained his grip on Fred's arm, since his brother shot a treacherous glare in the Minister's direction. It was all he could do to keep his own expression schooled and so he turned his attention instead on Percy, whose knees were shaking.

"Well...good evening, then," Percy said stiffly, nodding to all present; then he turned on his heel. George at first tensed when Percy laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, but he allowed his older brother to gently steer them from the room.

None of them spoke until they were downstairs and the gargoyle had sealed off the passage behind them. Then Fred exploded.

"I can't believe the sodding bastards thought we – thought we_ killed_ him for the Tournament money!" He swung a frustrated kick at the gargoyle and swore a moment later, clutching his foot.

George watched Percy from the corner of his eye as Fred hobbled about. Their older brother was ashen-faced and had yet to let go of him. Percy noticed him looking and squeezed his shoulder slightly.

"You told them the truth, didn't you." It wasn't quite a question.

"Perce, we both know you wouldn't have done it. Not in a million years."

Percy's gaze turned surprisingly stormy. "Someone turned me in – saw me studying in the dark arts books, thought I was up to something. Ridiculous, of course. I was researching the spells you asked me about."

The amount of rage layered into his barely steady voice was astonishing and somehow reassuring. "Perce, I never meant for you to get in trouble," he said hastily.

"Of course you didn't. No, it was all that the Minister said that added up against me... Position of power... Family in the Tournament..." He muttered to himself in disgust as they both watched Fred nurse his foot.

At last, Percy shook himself from his thoughts. "You two should get back upstairs," he instructed with an illusion of his old Head Boy authority. "I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you. Dumbledore is on our side now, and he will make them see reason."

The words were meant only as a reassurance, as if they were much younger than seventeen and were cowering from monsters under the bed or trying to block out a thunderstorm, but it was worlds away from the stance Percy would soon take against Dumbledore, Harry, and his family. For a moment, staring at him, George wondered if all he had really needed was a link to his younger brothers' lives.

"Hey, Perce...don't you worry, either," he said gruffly, and before he even registered what he was doing he was hugging Percy fiercely. His older brother stumbled backward, eyes widening.

"Th-thank you –?"

"Oi!" said Fred from somewhere behind him, and then he had launched himself into the hug so that he was mostly crushing George between his body and Percy. "Believe me," his voice muffled into George's shoulder, "if they try to chuck you in Azkaban, Perce, we'll break you out. No one's allowed to mess with our brothers. No one, 'cept for us."

A stifled noise from the now-suffocating George broke up the moment. They stepped away, no one looking as though they completely believed what had just happened. George rubbed at his head.

"Right...so...see you later, then?"

Percy nodded and straightened the front of his robes. "Take care of yourselves, now. Let's just hope this doesn't make the _Prophet_ – we don't need Mum and Dad worried about us –"

"Yeah," winced Fred, "that'd make quite the Howler. Just for the record, we are not criminals."

"Surprisingly enough, I believe you." Percy offered them a tentative grin and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "If I hear anything before you, I'll send an owl. The Aurors will find out who's responsible for this, I'm sure."

"Yeah. Sure hope so," said Fred.

When they parted ways in the Entrance Hall, George's mind was still reeling from the evening's events. To think last night he'd believed nothing they did could change anything; now he wished again for the Map so he could check just how much this confrontation with the law might have unbalanced their plans.

Nevertheless, he thought as Fred ascended the moving stairs in front of him, one thing seemed to have turned in their favour.

Percy was no longer quite as much of a git.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>AN:

I promised plot, you got plot. :D

George got some much deserved attention this chapter. Almost too much attention, actually. I think Crouch Jr might be stalking him.

When I was writing the Percy scene I first typed "Big Head" instead of "Head Boy"...a slip of the fingers maybe?

Disclaimer: all mentions of Percy being a git are Fred and George's opinion and do not reflect the thoughts of the author.

Please review!


	22. Crossing the Line

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21 – Crossing the Line<strong>

Sirius's reply to Harry arrived at breakfast on the first of June. Farther along the Gryffindor table, George forgot his toast and watched instead while Harry gingerly untied the letter from Hedwig's leg. Hermione and Ron leaned in to read over his shoulder as Harry's lips reiterated the words in a bare whisper.

George was too far away to hear him. His gaze slid away from Harry's heavily shadowed eyes – George was certain he and Harry both looked that haunted these days – and settled instead on Hermione. She said nothing while Harry finished reading the letter; a familiar concern pursed her lips.

_Of course,_ echoed the part of his mind that always sounded like her these days, _we can't go rushing out to meet Padfoot just yet_. _There's a Hogsmeade trip this upcoming weekend; we can use it to excuse both our absences_. Revisiting their fellow conspirer and – George's heart gave a funny lurch – seeing the Horcruxes he had brought back would have to wait just a while yet.

With that rationale, George resolved to wait and returned to picking at his toast. Then Fred's elbow jammed into his side.

Hissing an oath, George turned back to his brother. Then he noticed that Fred wasn't looking at him; he was staring up toward the rafters, and his knuckles had gone white around his knife and fork.

George followed his gaze. A sleek owl swooped in the direction of their seats – a very familiar owl. All at once, George felt his insides turn to liquid and he pushed aside his plate.

Percy's owl landed in front of him with a low hoot of greeting. George fumbled in his haste to untie the neat scroll from his leg, and Fred, momentarily forgetting Hermes's grudge against him, reached over to help.

"Here," said Fred when the scroll was at last loose from Hermes's talons and snapping beak. He thrust the letter into George's hands and sat back, watching him like a hawk, seemingly unaware of the blood smeared across his knuckles. Hermes ruffled his feathers irritably and went to nip at George's abandoned toast.

George wet his lips and forced his eyes to focus on his older brother's neat script.

_Fred and George –_

_I certainly hope my owl hasn't given you a scare. I have, I believe, what can only be a positive update. Thus far there has been no mention of a certain incident at work. I returned to my post with no particularly dangerous questions. Meanwhile, Mr Crouch's position has been filled by a Mr Thicknesse – the appointment should have made the Prophet this morning, in fact. I will be checking the paper myself as soon as the post arrives, but I believe that for now, at least, we may all breathe a little easier._

_I took the liberty to visit with one of my colleagues in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Miss Clearwater has been sworn to secrecy about our cause, and she assures me that we would have the advantage against the Wizengamot, should it come to that. She has also offered her services, should we be in need of an attorney._

_Do not worry too much about matters here; George, your focus should be on the third task right now. It will not be easy, but I know that both of you have been working hard, so, best of luck._

_Yours,_

_Percy_

"Well?" Fred's voice pulled George out of his perusal. "That's only good, isn't it?"

George looked up at his twin. Fred sucked at his bloody knuckles, leaned over his shoulder to see the letter.

"The Ministry's scared," George said shortly. "They've had a department head murdered and they've got no real leads to go on. Dumbledore sided with us. They can't risk going against him, not yet."

_At least, not until they make him and Harry out to be raving lunatics._

Fred nodded slowly, seeming not to notice the storminess that had come into George's eyes. "Yeah...that makes sense, I guess. Hey, George, this Clearwater woman...doesn't that ring a bell?"

"Penelope Clearwater. She was in Percy's year. Prefect and Head Girl. She caught us that time we were gonna set off fireworks after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup," George recited and hid a grin. Hermione would be proud of his intense study of the Map's new history.

Fred's brow furrowed. "...They were seeing each other, though, right?"

"Yeah, that, too."

Fred tugged the letter out of George's hands and stared at it very hard, as if something might have been added between the lines in invisible ink. "You don't think they still are, do you?"

George shrugged. Honestly, he didn't know or care either way. Maybe if he had been in a more assertive state of mind during those two war-free months, he would have remembered if, when Percy rose to Crouch's long-absent position, he had ever mentioned seeing her again. For all George recalled, he might've even brought her to the Burrow for dinner without him noticing. For that reason, and many others, he considered himself extremely lucky to have dragged the most intelligent witch he knew through the Veil with him.

"Whether our brother is in a relationship or not, might I suggest you don't bother him about it?" George concluded flatly. "He's got enough on his plate right now, in particular, keeping our necks out of Azkaban."

"I know that, I'm not stupid," uttered Fred.

"Really?" George said airily. "Could've fooled me."

Fred elbowed George, hard, beneath the table. He refrained himself from responding in kind when he sighted Hermione approaching. Quickly, he stuffed Percy's letter out of sight in his bag. She had enough to worry about without the possibility of them being accused of murder.

"Ready?" Hermione breathlessly said to Fred. George glanced sideways at his twin, who had signed up a month ago to retake the Apparition test this morning.

Fred shrugged and rubbed absently at his neck. "Ready as I'll ever be," he grinned at her.

Hermione nodded, took both his hands, and folded a small vial of a yellowish concoction between them. "Essence of Dittany," she said in response to his raised brows. "You shouldn't need it, but..."

But Fred understood. "I won't need it. I've been practicing." He grinned wolfishly at her, but George knew for a moment that his gaze drifted sideways to him. "Thanks, though, 'Mione."

Hermione smiled at him. "Good luck." With Harry and Ron looking on, she did nothing more than squeeze Fred's hands slightly and give George a bolstering smile before she turned away.

Fred and George watched the fourth years leave the Hall in silence; Fred rolled the vial of Dittany between his fingers, thoughtlessly, before he suddenly stood.

"They'll...They'll be calling us as soon as breakfast's done. C'mon, Forge."

Wordlessly George got up and followed his twin from the Great Hall. Fred was in a distracted mood this morning and hardly seemed to notice George a step behind him as they crossed the Entrance Hall; descended the steps onto the cool grassy lawns; started down the slope in the direction of the lake's black surface and the moored ship gleaming golden in the sunlight. George didn't care to break the vigil. Fred was many things, but he wasn't stupid: he knew his last attempt at Apparition had terrified George out of his wits.

After a while, they stopped short. They were standing on the docks now, gazing at their perfect reflections in the still water. Fred at last shattered the silence.

"You gonna watch?"

George grinned weakly at him. "Nah. They already think I'm a genius. Besides, you've been working with Hermione, right? You'll ace this thing."

"You mean, you'll murder me if I don't." Fred smirked and pulled his right fist to his jaw, distractedly gnawing at his new scabs.

"Yeah, that, too."

In no time at all, it seemed, it was time: Fred looked at his watch, then at George; George nodded. If his brother's eyes were a little too wide, if his knuckles were bleeding again, George pretended not to notice. Fred attempted a last grin for him.

Then Fred was gone.

George didn't linger to watch his twin's progress back up the sprawling lawns; he shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes, turned, and purposefully headed in the opposite direction.

Fred would do fine, if not because of Hermione's extra patient coaching, then because Fred knew George wouldn't forgive him otherwise. George was petrified for his sake, of course, but he'd been trying hard not to think on that. Or on the nightmares.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, George resurfaced with a strained smile and looked up at the winged boars guarding Hogwarts's gates.

It was about time he gave himself a break.

Back at the school, the Gryffindor sixth years who weren't retaking the Ministry exam endured Defence Against the Dark Arts. George's tolerance for Barty Crouch Jr.'s teaching had shrank to almost nothing, and he privately swore that magical blue eye was permanently fixed on him. So instead, he breathed deeply in the humid spring air and wandered the quiet streets of Hogsmeade.

By some irony, his footsteps led him directly to Zonko's. Hands in pockets, George paused beneath their vibrant sign and gazed through the windows. Stacks of Dr Filibuster's No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks made up the display with their screaming logos. As he stared at the shifting print, George's eyes began to blur.

_"We'd do good business in Hogsmeade," Fred commented one evening. They were in the thick of restocking; George shifted his grip on a large crate of Weasley's Whiz-Bangs to look over at his brother. Thoughtfulness furrowing his brow, Fred had stopped short a little ways behind him where he had been rearranging a shelf of fireworks. This was always the way he got when he had an idea, so George was used to his brother's odd shifts in mood by now._

_"I mean," Fred went on when George said nothing, "we're making more than enough to start thinking of a second branch. And there's the whole of Hogwarts to think of, pranksters in the making in need of our expertise. Don't you think?"_

_George shrugged. "Where in Hogsmeade, though? Besides, Hogsmeade's already got Zonko's."_

_"That's exactly it, dear brother o' mine," Fred beamed at him. "What say you we buy out Zonko's?"_

That had been the summer before the ear incident and the Ministry's fall, and everything subsequently spiralling out of control. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking on their part to be preoccupied with expansion while war tore the streets apart around them, but it had kept them sane.

George turned, squinting, from the fireworks display and caught a flicker of movement farther along the lane. The streets were nearly deserted around him, so George looked curiously at the interloper hurrying toward the Three Broomsticks. The furtiveness with which the stranger glanced each way from beneath his cloak, inching toward the door, spurred an old instinct from the war. George's hand slipped within his robes and he started after the man.

It was not until he had ducked into the pub after the stranger that George recognized him. It was not hard to see why: without his usual flamboyant robes, Ludo Bagman was nothing more than a hunched, overweight man, wheezing as he approached the bar and waved discreetly for Madam Rosmerta.

Bagman did not interest him all that much, but he had already come this far, so George ducked behind a group of aged women and watched Ludo Bagman nervously scan the bar.

After a moment, he realized he was not the only one. A cluster of goblins leered from the shadows of a far table, and Bagman, also sighting them, twitched as he took his drink from Madam Rosmerta.

A sudden smirk reached George's lips. He himself might be satisfied with the Triwizard winnings in their near future, but he might as well give Bagman some hell for Fred's sake.

Straightening and beaming as though he had just noticed an old friend, George strolled over to Bagman's place at the bar.

"Ludo Bagman! What a surprise." George grinned broadly and straddled the stool next to him. Bagman had just risen to leave, his squinty eyes flitting to the goblins, and he twitched again when George heartily clapped his shoulder. "How are you? Come now, let's have a drink."

"Really, Mr Weasley, I –" Bagman began, but George insisted. The large man sat back down, a muscle twitching in his jaw. George looked toward the corner: the surly goblins had not moved.

Madam Rosmerta returned. "Something to drink?"

"No, thanks." George flashed a smile. "I'm broke." When she had moved off to see to the three grim wizards to their left, George fished in his pocket and withdrew two packaged candies.

"Care for a mint?"

Bagman eyed the bright packages suspiciously, but after George popped one into his mouth with no noticeable side effects, he took the second one himself.

Casually George went on. "On the subject of money, I've been meaning to have a word. Let's keep this on the down-low, since I'm not sure how...proper...it is of a champion and all, but I'd like to make a wager on the third task."

"A bit young to gamble, aren't you?" said Bagman from the corner of his mouth. His jaw was twitching again.

"As you've told me many times, yes," George agreed amiably. "But I don't know...I've a feeling about this one." He picked up the discarded wrapper from the counter and folded it between his fingers. "How about it: thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts."

Bagman stiffened slightly, and George hid a grin. Fred's constant grumblings about their lost money served for something, at least.

"I can't take that bet, Mr Weasley. You just told me you're broke." Bagman had recovered his wits.

"A minor inconvenience," George shrugged. "I've a feeling I'll have some money in my pockets soon."

Bagman continued to twitch, a frown pulling at his broad jaw. George laid his last card on the table.

"Fred and I've agreed, it's all or nothing from this point. We win, we get our money back, we leave you alone; we lose, we lose the money fair...and we leave you alone."

As he spoke a lazy smirk reached his lips; he saw Bagman was mulling over the offer. Fred must have been persistent in his pestering, because George had largely left him to it this time; all things considered, George thought he was better off not knowing what his brother had been up to.

"Well, then," Bagman said at last, clearing his throat. He fumbled a notebook from his pocket and flipped to an empty page. "Thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, and three knuts, was it, that you win the Triwizard Cup?"

"Oh, no," George said lightly, enjoying the way Bagman's eyebrows shot up. "I bet Harry Potter will win the Cup."

Bagman stared at him; George smiled innocently back. Finally, shaking his head, Bagman scrawled down the wager in his book. "Well..." He cleared his throat again. "Consider your bet taken."

"Thank you," George said sanctimoniously, and glanced at his watch. "Look at the time...better head back and make sure Fred didn't maim himself. See you around, then."

He hopped off the stool and headed for the door; when he chanced a glance back, he saw Bagman in his befuddlement had been cornered by the goblins.

Just desserts indeed.

* * *

><p>The Gryffindor fourth years concluded their morning lessons with Herbology. Today's class involved carting temperamental Pinching Plants from Greenhouse Five to Greenhouse Three, where they would be pruned. The plants did not take very well to their transplanting: twice the shrub Harry, Ron, and Hermione were tending to had burst its roots free from the soil and snapped at their exposed gloves.<p>

While Harry and Ron duelled the plant back into its pot, Hermione hurried off to fetch more soil. She ducked outside to Professor Sprout's storage shed, an empty pot clutched in her hand. She looked past the shelves of fluffy pink earmuffs to where a large bag of enriched soil leaned against the wall. She crouched on her heels and shovelled dirt into the fresh pot as quickly as possible without making a mess.

"_Carry it gently_, I said," she muttered under her breath. "They never_ listen_ to me –"

"Hey, I listen to you, Granger."

Hermione let out a yelp and nearly dropped the half-filled pot. Her hand flew to her wand pocket and she cursed herself for not noticing the presence as she scrambled to her feet and turned around.

All at once, the breath for a spell left her as she found herself face to face with Fred Weasley.

"Whoa, Granger, it's only me." He threw his hands in the air.

"I...I didn't hear you come in," Hermione excused herself, lowering her wand. Her face reddened and she was suddenly conscious that her robes were pushed up to her elbows, scuffed with dirt and tangled with bits of dried leaves.

At that, Fred grinned. "Your Muggle Defence book, remember? I've picked up a few things."

She laughed weakly. "I've noticed."

"But back to business. I know you don't like to be kept from class." He reached within his robes with a flourish and withdrew a tiny bottle of yellow potion, which he placed in her hands. "I kept it safe for you."

"Oh..." The Essence of Dittany had not been opened. "_Oh_," she repeated, more loudly, and looked up at him. Fred offered a lopsided smile.

"I didn't need it, I told you."

Uncaring then of the dirt, Hermione lunged at him in a hug. Fred chuckled into her hair as she declared breathlessly, "You did it, Fred, that's _brilliant_! – Have you told George yet?"

Hermione had a sudden vision of George sitting with her as they watched the new DA practice, telling her that Fred had splinched himself and barely looking her in the eye.

Fred pulled back slightly. "Not yet. He's run off." He glanced around the shed absently, as though his twin would materialize from thin air. "Well...suppose I'd better start looking. I'll let you get back to class, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione said in a small voice, almost guiltily closing her fists in the front of Fred's robes. He smirked at her as if he knew she didn't want to see him leave, and he too quickly kissed the corner of her jaw.

"I'll see you tonight. Tutoring. All right?"

"All right," she echoed, regretfully letting go.

Saturday dawned with George creeping down to the common room while the rest of the sixth year boys dozed on. Fred would have declared it an unholy hour if he had known; as it was, only Hermione waited for him in the glow of the common room's embers, a solemn expression on her face and Harry's Invisibility Cloak under her arm.

They crossed the lawns; ducked through the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow; emerged from the Shrieking Shack, and then plunged into the wild mountainside. At last they made it to Sirius's cave just as the sun climbed in the sky. The shaggy black dog lazed in the sunshine, waiting for them, but he leaped to his paws the moment he scented their approach.

Padfoot's tail wagged and he turned about, leading the way into the cave. George pulled off the cloak; Hermione was clutching a stitch in her side. He waited for her to catch her breath and duck between the rocks after Sirius first.

In the dim light Sirius waited for them in human form, a fervent gleam in his eyes that seemed to have restored years of his youth.

"Did you bring them?" he and George said at the same time.

Hermione rolled her eyes but opened her bag, revealing a selection of food taken straight from the Hogwarts kitchens. A whole ham, drumsticks, several rolls, some toast, two bottles of pumpkin juice, and a colourful ménage of fruit she piled on the flat rock between them.

Sirius grabbed a drumstick and tore into it as if he had not eaten in days. George sensed their quarry would have to wait and settled across from Sirius with a grin, reaching for an apple. Hermione looked a little ill after Sirius seized a second drumstick and a roll, and shortly she rose and went after the sound of Buckbeak's squabbling to feed him a bit of ham.

By the time she had returned, Sirius threw down the last clean bone and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"You have no idea how much I needed that."

"A month longer," said George. "Then we'll all be at Grimmauld Place – provided we survive that long, anyway."

Something indecipherable flickered in Sirius's gaze. Then he grabbed an orange and tossed it between his palms. "After Voldemort returns, what are we planning?" he asked casually. "The Order will be gathering. Dumbledore did that the night of the task. And I'm sure you both know how well _they_ handled things."

"We'll just have to keep hunting his Horcruxes and biding our time," Hermione stated calmly. "The specifics depend, really, on how the third task plays out."

"In other words, whether or not I survive," George grinned at Sirius.

Sirius nodded gravely and turned away. He bit into the orange without removing the peel. "And I suppose he'll have that filthy rat to bring him back. Any plans for him?"

"Have him," George uttered in disgust.

Sirius said nothing, but suddenly he jolted back into motion. He rose and let the orange fall back on the rock. "Then I suppose you want to see these."

George and Hermione waited while Sirius disappeared into the back of the cave. They heard Buckbeak shuffling, and Sirius's voice murmuring to the Hippogriff; then Sirius was back. George stared at the sack in his hands.

"As arranged," said Sirius, and he turned the bag upside down. Ravenclaw's silver diadem, Slytherin's dark locket, and the Gaunt ring clattered onto the rock amid the scraps of Sirius's feast. Hermione picked up the ring; it was missing its stone.

Sirius reached within his robes and handed George a worn sheaf of parchment. "Thanks for the warnings," he said grimly. "The locket nearly strangled me anyway."

Hermione lowered the ring and cast him a horrified look.

"...No, I was not dumb enough to put it on," Sirius muttered. "Don't you have any faith in me? Anyway. That's four we've got now, counting the diary. We'll have to get rid of these three, with Professor Granger's permission."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Right. And the cup we can get this summer," George went on. "We'll think of that after...after the thing. And then he'll be left with one."

Sirius stirred. "One?"

George looked at Hermione imploringly. She lifted her head and at last something close to a smile touched her lips. "We believe –"

"– She believes, she gets the credit for this one," George cut in.

Hermione gave him a look. "We believe," she continued firmly, "that Harry isn't a Horcrux; at least, not anymore. Remember Horcruxes are only destroyed by irreversible magic? Fiendfyre, Basilisk venom, the Killing Curse. Last time..." She wavered. "Last time, we thought what did it was when Voldemort killed Harry in the final battle. Butin our second year, when Harry fought the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, he was stabbed by one of its fangs. He would have died if Fawkes the phoenix hadn't cured him."

Sirius looked from Hermione to George and back again. George had never seen such a look on his face: dazed disbelief shifting into amazement, and then, so suddenly that George jumped, Sirius threw back his head and barked a laugh.

"And that, Hermione, is precisely why we keep you around, even if you marred our Map." Sirius swiped the back of his fist across his face and sobered. "One Horcrux...he'll be down to one Horcrux, then."

"A bit better than last time, isn't it?" George smiled.

"A fair bit, yes."

Sirius sat down and replaced the Horcuxes, one by one, in his bag. George looked around at Hermione; she chewed on her lower lip before venturing forth the second reason for their visit.

"Now, I think...I think we should go over our plan, one more time."

"All right," Sirius said amicably, looking over the locket before dropping it disgustedly in his sack. "What's our brilliant plan?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Voldemort's plan hinges on him obtaining Harry's blood to come back. He could use any wizard's blood for his resurrection, really, but he wants Harry for one reason." She drew a breath. "Until now, Lily Potter's love protected him. Until now, Voldemort couldn't touch him. That's why he needs Harry's blood. But now..."

Hermione looked at George.

"But now," he concluded for her, "we decided a little _mischief_ is exactly what our Dark Lord needs."

* * *

><p>The days of June slipped into one another: there were twenty-four days until Voldemort's return; then there were twenty-one; then there were only eighteen, and where had the time gone? Now the mere thought of the third task made George's heart miss a few beats and his palms start to sweat. He wished for a time-turner to prolong the hours until he had to...until he had to do it, but at the same time, he figured that the waiting might drive him mad.<p>

George had given up on his silencing wards. It was now habitual for him to jerk awake in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat, Fred's hand pressuring on his shoulder.

Sometimes he wondered if Fred slept at all these days, either.

The one time George tolerated – the one time that made him believe, for a little while, that they would be all right – was the nightly Defence gatherings he staged with Harry. Night after night the sixth-floor classroom rang with hexes and counter-curses. George, supervising the younger students, felt his heart lift to watch them train: they had changed in so few months.

The Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw now cursed and dodged with fluidity and focus. Gone were their fumbling voices and uncertain movements, and for a moment, looking on at the scene, George imagined he was overlooking Dumbledore's Army of a year later. Neville's brow shone as he fought against Seamus, his aim steady and true; Colin and Dennis leaped about like little imps; Ginny and Luna exchanged friendly fire. A change had also come over Fred these last few nights, George noticed. He jested less during their matches. He duelled with unknown fervency, a tenseness to his brow. Though he said nothing, George suspected the shift in Fred's attitude had something to do with his earlier promise to Percy.

At the moment, wandering around the battling students, George heard Harry and Ron behind him. "Hermione didn't show again?"

"No," answered Harry, more quietly. "I was hoping she'd help us with the Furnunculus Curse, but...I suppose review is enough for tonight."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Last I saw she was still upstairs. D'you think she's been acting a bit – odd, lately?"

George didn't turn around. He sidestepped an awry deflection from Fred, who shot him a cheeky, half-apologetic grin, and continued to watch his mock duel with Lee.

"It's not just you." Harry paused. "She's been working nonstop. She hasn't been like this since last year."

"Hope she hasn't got herself another time-turner." There was a grin in Ron's voice. "She should've learned her lesson last time."

George decided it wasn't worth the effort to stick around Fred and Lee – who were starting to aim at him on purpose now – and instead headed toward the two fourth years.

Ron said decidedly, "No, it's probably just exams. We're not all exempted, unlike some lucky gits. And we've covered a lot this year."

"Yeah. Odd she hasn't started in on us about studying yet. Hey, George," Harry grinned as he approached.

George nodded, "Hey. Listen, d'you think you two can take over from here? I'm gonna head back. Got a bit of a headache."

If he had some of his Snackbox prototypes on hand, he could have made the ruse more convincing; as it was, though, Harry was already nodding sympathetically. He supposed the other champion was experiencing a similar sort of stress at the moment.

"Right...see you later, then. And mind you keep an eye on Fred. Don't let him cause any trouble while I'm gone."

With that, George took his leave from the classroom, quietly closing and locking the door on the shouted spells behind him. In the sudden, ringing silence, his head pulsed and he reckoned that he hadn't entirely lied to Harry.

George massaged his temples, blew out a long sigh, and set off for the seventh floor.

He found Hermione in the old headquarters of Dumbledore's Army. She sat cross-legged in the wispy light of a bubbling cauldron with an ancient tome in her lap and a heap of half-transparent silk at her side.

"How's it coming?" George said in form of greeting, settling beside her. He peered into the cauldron: the contents were of a sickening murky green.

"As well as expected," Hermione said grimly, still running a finger down the page of the potions manual. "It'll be ready for the twenty-fourth."

George nodded and drew back. They sat in silence for a long stretch. George still didn't entirely agree with her plan for the third task, but they had settled the matter between them in that cave one long ago morning. He did not question that Hermione had good reason behind her plot; after all, it was too much of a gamble to prevent Voldemort's revival now and let him find another, stronger way back.

After a moment, Hermione picked up a long spoon and resumed stirring the concoction in rhythmic, counter-clockwise strokes.

George shifted. "Anything I can do?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've got all the ingredients now. This is my job." Her lips pursed in the slightest gesture of defiance and George knew at once that she was determined to contribute somehow. She had stood by as first George, and then Fred, endured their tasks. She had waited for news while Sirius hunted Horcruxes in their stead. These days, she hardly participated in their nightly training sessions. Nonetheless, Hermione would refuse any of George's insistence that it was only because of her that they had gotten this far in the first place.

To force away the renewed silence, George leaned over and frowned at the potion. "Is that really enough for the two of us?"

Hermione didn't falter, but something flickered in her gaze. George glanced up at her, but she suddenly did not meet his eye.

"I...I've been thinking. It's probably best if you do this on your own," she said hesitantly. "We'd only increase suspicions otherwise... I'd only endanger the both of us. This way, at least, I can keep an eye on things outside... George, I'm really sorry," she hastened, "I really am –"

He cut her off. "No, you're right. It would be too dangerous." He tried to smile and squeezed her hand. "I'll feel better knowing you're safe. And now that I think of it, it's probably not a good idea to leave it all up to Padfoot if something goes wrong."

His light words disguised the cold clenching in his chest. He didn't want Hermione to realize he was truly and utterly petrified; no, she had enough to worry about already.

It was one thing to step into that dark maze in the first place. To face it completely alone was another thing entirely. The last time he had been alone, after all, a dragon had nearly decapitated him.

George drew a breath to steady himself. It would only be selfish to endanger their plans – to endanger Hermione, for God's sake – because of his fear. He was a Gryffindor, after all. He directed his attention to the neat vials lined up near the cauldron and smiled weakly.

"Been off to Snape's office again, have we?"

It worked. Hermione shot him a quick, grimacing look. "Don't look at me like that. I am not a thief."

"Oh, so you're just borrowing them, then?" George raised an eyebrow.

Hermione's cheeks went pink. "Between you and Fred," she bemoaned, "my reputation is going down the drain."

"All our fault? Really?" George grinned. "What's this about sneaking down a forbidden corridor in your first year, or brewing slightly illegal Polyjuice Potion during your second, turning back time in your third, or starting a rebellious organization under the toad's nose? I suppose that was all due to our terrible influence."

Hermione grimaced. George laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Now, honest, Hermione – one of these days you're going to have to admit that you're one of us."

Hermione did not dignify that with acknowledgement, but after a moment a small smile tugged at her lips and she resumed stirring the potion in steady strokes.

"Just be sure Fred doesn't learn that yet. I don't want to scare him off."

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

Meep! This was supposed to be finished ages ago, but, obviously, it was not. The good news is that I've gotten a lot of writing done so far on vacation. Provided my currently flaky connection holds out, we should be seeing the third task within the week. :)

Chapter Commentary:

(1) Herme's apparent grudge toward Fred is semi-based on my own experience with a forever-grumpy parrot named Gimpy, who bit my ear. There was blood. I still love birds, oddly enough.

(2) The Harry-Horcrux hypothesis was supposed to be elaborated in earlier chapters. It was not. It will be touched on again later, though, definitely.

(3) Third task next chapter! :)

Please review!


	23. The Third Task

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: I have an announcement this chapter! Stay tuned! :D

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22 – The Third Task: Fighting Fate<strong>

They were standing in broad daylight, but even so, the graveyard gave George chills.

He walked in Sirius's shadow between the crumbling headstones and, occasionally, the statue of a weeping, faceless angel. Bowed willows interspersed the graves, heavy with their spring down. The two wizards had been unchallenged from the moment they stepped over the dilapidated fence and began to wander Little Hangleton's plot. Then again, George thought, by the way the back of his neck prickled, this place needed no more than the dead to keep watch.

He shook off the feeling with difficulty, yet his hand lingered near his wand as he redoubled his steps to keep pace with Sirius. Up and down the twisting rows George's eyes never stopped moving: analyzing the surroundings, checking the sturdiness of his footing, seeking places one could hide.

He figured he would need that last one, come the evening of the twenty-fourth.

A little ways ahead, Sirius had stopped short. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans – a Muggle guise for today's venture – and gazed up at a weathered stone figure.

George quickened his steps after him. His footfalls scuffled loudly in the silence until he stopped next to Sirius, breathing shallowly. For some reason, he felt as if he was standing in the aftermath of the battle again – as if years of Hogwarts's dust and ash had clogged in his lungs – and he coughed in the deadened silence.

Then he summoned the will to follow Sirius's gaze.

George felt ice shiver over his insides. What he had taken maybe to be an angel was the looming figure of Death itself, hooded, one skeletal hand beckoning. Breaking his gaze, George looked down at the headstone.

_Tom Riddle._

George's fingers twitched. It would be too easy to incinerate those supple remains and prevent the Dark Lord's return. They wouldn't have to fight again... They wouldn't stand that final battle at Hogwarts... Fred wouldn't be in that corridor that day...

George gathered the thought and locked it at the back of his mind behind his longstanding shields: a welcome numbness spread across his mind. Finally, when he was certain of his wits again, he nodded to Sirius.

They turned back, traced a path through the crowd of gravestones, and clambered over the fence. It wasn't until they were far into the wild hillside that they at last turned to one another. George grasped Sirius's elbow; the Marauder raised his wand.

And with a sharp crack, the duo Disapparated.

* * *

><p>When Fred closed the dormitory door in his wake, he heard it.<p>

Softly, at first, George whimpered.

Fred froze next to the door, hardly aware that his breath had caught in his chest. He was dreaming again: no doubt about it. God, Fred hated George's nightmares.

Then George's moaning redoubled and Fred jolted suddenly into motion.

He scraped back the hangings of his twin's bed and found him as he always did. Twisted in his bedcovers, his hair matted from the pillow as he tossed and turned, George waged against the dream.

"Not Fred...not Fred..."

George's head lolled to the right and Fred's heart lurched: his hair stuck up in tufts and left the gap of his left ear open to the air, garish and red as it had always been.

Fred crouched at his brother's head and grasped his shoulders to stop his thrashing. "George," he whispered at first. Then, more loudly when he didn't respond: "George. _George_, wake up."

He always knew when he got through to him by the way George stilled; then his entire body shuddered as he dragged a desperate breath. His eyes snapped open and focused hazily on Fred's face.

"F...Fred?"

He nodded. Fred felt his jaw had gone tense; maybe that was why, for a few moments longer, George looked so afraid. Then his eyes closed, he breathed out, and he curled onto his opposite side. Fred could no longer see his damaged ear.

As always, then, Fred would retreat; leave him be until the nightmare came back to plague him. Tonight, though, Fred clenched his jaw and didn't move from his twin's side.

"Georgie."

He never called him that, either. Fred's voice had lowered back to a whisper. He reached for his twin's shoulder again, but this time he hesitated; he let his hand fall instead, gently, upon George's thick hair.

Fred had no choice now, so he pressed on. "What...what is it you dream about, Georgie?"

For a long moment, George said nothing; he lay with his eyes closed and his back to Fred. Maybe it was better to resume their ritual. George had to sleep. George had to be ready for...tomorrow.

But then George spoke, hoarsely. "You."

"I know that –"

George rolled over and Fred's hand fell away. He gazed up at Fred through the hair fallen in his eyes: George's blue eyes glimmered unnaturally in the darkened dormitory, and for some reason it gave Fred chills.

"Dead," said George.

"_Me_?" Fred didn't know what to say, so he jested. "I didn't know you cared so much, Georgie." He started to laugh, but it sounded wrong. He stopped.

He still wasn't sure what to do in the haunting silence, so he pulled back the covers and lay next to his brother. In the silence, he whispered, "I'm not gonna die, Georgie."

George said nothing. Fred wished he would have said something, anything to shatter the cold silence. So Fred pulled his brother's head down on his shoulder and kept talking.

"You know, you'll be brilliant tomorrow, Georgie. You and Harry both, but you'll be a bit more brilliant than him. I've seen you in Defence. I've seen you training with us. You know what you're doing. And when we were reviewing tonight –" Fred's voice cracked. This wasn't like him; this wasn't like George, either, and it petrified him. Somehow, he had to keep talking.

"When we were reviewing tonight, you deflected everything we sent at you, and then some. I certainly couldn't have done it. Harry couldn't have done it. Gods, I don't even think Hermione could've done it. So, Georgie, I know you're gonna be bloody brilliant out there tomorrow. And if you aren't – if you aren't –" Fred's voice wavered.

"If you aren't, I swear, I will kill you," Fred said flatly.

George said nothing in response to that tirade, either. After a moment, though, Fred felt his shoulders trembling against him.

"You're such a pansy," Fred sighed affectionately. Nevertheless, he conceded to putting an arm around him; the other hand lingered, protectively, in George's hair.

Clutching to each other like they were five years old again, they fell into a restless, dreamless slumber.

* * *

><p>Breakfast on the twenty-fourth of June was a noisy affair. George, who had barely slept last night, felt his ear ringing and stared hazily at the toast Fred had piled on his plate. His twin didn't look too much better at the moment, but Fred shot him a grin anyway and threatened to force-feed him until George was picking unenthusiastically at the crust.<p>

All around them, students bid each other good luck before heading off for their exams. George, being exempted, did not budge from his slouch. Fred lingered with him after the bell had rung, trying to lighten his mood with his too-cheerful words and the occasional elbow to the side.

That was how Hermione found them. "I _do_ hope you studied," she critiqued Fred.

Fred flashed a grin. "You doubt my skills, Granger? No, don't worry, I studied – George threatened me with weird jinxes until I did."

Hermione glanced at George, who remained staring stonily at his full plate. Her brave smile faltered.

"Well...good luck, both of you." She shot an anxious look toward the thinning crowd at the door. "I should be going – Fred, you too, come on."

Predictably, Fred groaned at her words, but George didn't miss the quick look back at him, either.

"Go on," he muttered. George had been watching Harry where he sat, pale and alone, for the past few minutes, and he supposed that he might as well accompany the other champion for the time being.

"Good luck," Hermione whispered. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. As she did, George felt her slip something small and cylindrical into his pocket; he did not react. When she had stepped back, Fred hesitated before grasping his twin's shoulders.

"Bloody brilliant, remember?" he said gruffly before he let go.

Then the two were gone, and George heard Fred muttering, "What, I don't get a good luck kiss, too?"

George didn't hear Hermione's reply as he headed along the emptying table to Harry's spot. The fourth year glanced up briefly and met his eye; George tried to smile, and Harry tried to smile back. Neither quite succeeded.

Nevertheless, Harry straightened a little in the sixth year's presence. George wished he could take the same comfort; instead he stared at Harry from the corner of his eye and wondered if Hermione expected him to do it now.

They had not been sitting for very long when Professor McGonagall swept past, her lips very thin. "Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, the champions are to meet in the side chamber off the Hall."

The colour drained from Harry's face. "But the task – the task's not until tonight –"

"I'm aware of that, Mr Potter," McGonagall said dryly. "The champions' families were invited to watch the final task. You are to greet them now."

"...Oh," said Harry. He seemed at once relieved and a little bit crestfallen. George suspected he knew why: his Muggle relatives wouldn't set foot in Hogwarts, and as awesome a godfather Sirius surely was, some people wouldn't take an ex-convict wandering in their midst very well.

Once McGonagall had left, George nudged Harry. "Shall we?"

"Oh." Harry started out of his daze. "Right."

They got up and ventured past the teachers' table into the side chamber where, long ago, George had had the shock of a lifetime as he was made Hogwarts champion. As if seeing Fred again, being bloody _sixteen_ again hadn't been enough of a shock. George shook his head slightly and peered around the room.

Fleur and Viktor were already present between the old golden trophies, chatting in their native tongues with their parents. Gabrielle clutched to her mother's hand, looking very much like Ginny had at ten or eleven. As for Fleur, she smiled brilliantly and tossed her silvery hair over her shoulder often. It wasn't very hard for George to guess why.

He covered his smirk as the Weasley family came toward them: Bill, Charlie, Percy, their father. At their head, his mum hurried forward and nearly crushed him in a hug. "Oh, Georgie, I've been so worried!"

George had been expecting something like this, but it had been so long since he had seen his mother that he endured the coddling without complaint. When at last Mrs Weasley drew back, she eyed him very seriously. "Show me."

Without saying anything, George grimaced and lifted the left side of his long hair. The reddened gap where his left ear had once been earned a sharp intake of breath from his mum, and Percy's face went white.

"My poor boy... When Charlie said you got hurt, he didn't...he didn't..." Mrs Weasley trailed off and instead hugged him very tightly again. George struggled to breathe.

Charlie mercifully distracted her. "Hi, Harry," he said brightly. Mrs Weasley released George and, taking notice of the dark-haired boy hanging back, smiled and opened her arms.

"Hello, Harry, dear. We're here for you, too, of course. There's quite enough to go around."

George smiled to see amazement flicker on Harry's face before he stepped willingly into her embrace.

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," he said, looking around at them all, "that's really nice of you. I thought, for a moment back there..." He grinned sheepishly. "I thought the Dursleys were coming."

George, Charlie, and Bill laughed; Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, as she always did at the mention of Harry's blood relatives. To distract herself, she fussed with George's hair.

"What have you done to it?" she asked with a faint _tsk_. "It's nearly as long as Bill's, now." It wasn't: the curse-breaker wore his hair in a long ponytail, but their mum didn't care. "We'll have to have it cut straightaway."

"Hey," said Bill in the background. "It looks good, George." He winked at him.

"No, no, not while you live under my roof." Mrs Weasley had her hands on her hips.

"Then you'll have to wait until Fred's here, too," George argued. He caught Charlie's eye and grinned. "He was supporting my ear, see."

Charlie smirked. Mrs Weasley threatened something about summer and scissors, but George couldn't be bothered with anything farther than twelve hours off; she was soon distracted commenting on how peckish Harry was looking once again.

In her absence, Percy stepped nearer and cleared his throat.

"Good luck, George."

"Thanks." George grinned up at him. "And you're free, I reckon?"

Percy nodded grimly, an eye on Mrs Weasley's back. "I resigned," he said only for George to hear. "I took a job in the Aurors' division – doing paperwork," he added quickly, since George's eyes had gone very round. "Kingsley Shacklebolt put in a good word for me. I put together the information they get on dark wizards, write up reports, and the like."

"Good for you, Perce," George said, and meant it. Shacklebolt was a prime member of the Order of the Phoenix, and with Percy under his wing, Percy wouldn't be able to denounce Dumbledore – and his family – without getting through him first.

Soon someone had the idea of touring the castle, and no one disagreed. Thus George and Harry spent the morning with the elder Weasley boys and their parents, showing them about the castle and grounds and laughing over the memories. Charlie accidentally let slip about the time he and his seventh year friends had decided, on a bet, to attempt to ride the dragons kept by the Care of Magical Creatures Professor Kettleburn, and ended up burning down half the west wing; so that, George reckoned, was why dragons had been banned from the curriculum.

Naturally, their mother was affronted.

Bill diverted the brewing animosity by telling them tall tales about the lengths students would go to break the rules when he had been Head Boy. Mrs Weasley tsked and tutted, but George laughed: he knew Bill had many more less than innocent stories that went unsaid in front of her, for they would have earned him a clap about the ears.

Then Percy surprised them all by piping up with a story about the twins' first year: a prank they had pulled on him that George hardly remembered. The boys laughed as Percy described his Christmas jumper turning bright purple in the Great Hall, and Professor Dumbledore himself complimenting him on the hue. Mrs Weasley only pursed her lips.

When they had sobered afterward, George remembered his quest to get Percy on their side and wondered if he should apologize to him; but Percy, he saw, was grinning haplessly along with his brothers.

Well. Maybe he had underestimated him.

Around lunchtime, they trooped back to the Great Hall to be joined by Ron and Ginny. Neither had known about their family being invited; Ginny squealed and ran to hug Bill, Charlie, and Percy in quick succession. Meanwhile, Charlie teased Ron who had finally surpassed him in height.

Afterward, when they were all digging into potatoes and roast and George was feeling a little more lively, talk turned to their exams. "You didn't miss much in History," Ron told Harry as he piled his plate. "Just some stuff about goblin rebellions, you know the like... Hermione stayed right until the end, she'll be along soon."

Indeed, Hermione arrived about five minutes later, breathless. She dropped into the empty seat next to Harry and tugged at the bottom of her shirt, something that only George and Ginny (who, smiling, quickly hid behind her juice) seemed to notice. For his part, George only raised an eyebrow.

"How did yours go?"

"What? Oh," Hermione said with an absent smile, "it went well. Professor Binns chose a really interesting topic for the essay. I got five rolls out of it."

Ron started to mutter that everyone else had written three rolls, and then Fred showed up. He swung into the seat next to George and immediately reached for the dish of roast.

"Everyone keeping their peckers up? Good. I was afraid I'd have to start in on desperate measures." He grinned sideways at George, who must have seemed much more wakeful than at breakfast; he only rolled his eyes.

While everyone else was immersed in conversation, George leaned nearer to his twin.

"Did you know you've got lipstick smudges?"

That left Fred frantically scrubbing his fist along his jaw for the next few minutes, which served to amuse George, at least.

After lunch, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Fred bid them farewell as they headed off for their afternoon exams. Mrs Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after her time, so Harry and George led the group outside. While they watched the tree swatting at some birds that had gotten too close, George inadvertently glanced in the direction of the Quidditch stadium on the horizon, knowing he would have to go there tonight –

His breath froze cold in his lungs.

A great black dog loomed out of the outreach of the Forbidden Forest, golden eyes watching them, and for a wildly paranoid instant George thought of his great-uncle Bilius, who had died no more than twenty-four hours after sighting the Grim.

And then the dog wagged its tail, turned about, and disappeared between the trees.

God, he was paranoid.

George glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the others were enrapt in Harry's story about the Willow, before he hastened toward the Forest.

George plunged between the trees and heard pine needles crackle beneath his feet. He strained his gaze in the gloom and saw nothing. "Padfoot? You there?"

A low bark answered him. George trailed after the sound, ducking beneath spindly branches that scraped at his exposed arms. At last he stepped out into a small clearing and found Sirius Black standing there. The Marauder looked a fair bit healthier than the last time George had seen him, as though he had had the chance to trim his shaggy hair and enjoy another feast or two...and take a shower, by the smell of things.

At George's raised eyebrow, Sirius grinned. "I'm supposed to be having guests soon, now, aren't I? I have to give them a good impression."

George snorted. "You? Good impression? Good luck with that, mate."

Sirius quickly sobered. "George, I trust you don't need to be told that tonight will be difficult. I can't risk coming in to the crowd to watch you, but – _good luck_. I had the chance to pick up something from home that you might need." Sirius dug in his pocket and retrieved what looked like a handheld mirror.

"...Right," said George uncertainly, tilting the mirror in his hands and glimpsing his own too-haggard expression.

"It's a two-way mirror," Sirius said with a grin to his scepticism. "I have the other one, see. We can stay in contact while you're in the maze."

"Oh." Colour flooded back to George's face and he grinned suddenly; it lifted the haze of worry from his face. "That's brilliant, Padfoot. I was thinking I'd have to use my Patronus again and, well, I got caught last time."

Sirius smiled tightly and, before George could stop him, he had pulled him into a hug. "For doing something this insane, I daresay you've earned your spot as a Marauder," he said gruffly. "You and Hermione both."

"Oh, no, she won't like that," grinned George. "I've tarnished her reputation enough as it is."

Nevertheless, he hesitated for a fraction before hurrying on. "If things don't work out tonight – well, in any case, I want my Marauder name to be Scout, all right?"

"Consider it done," said Sirius gravely, clapping him on the shoulder.

And, feeling slightly lighter with his mentor in the ways of pranking at his side, George headed off to rejoin the Weasleys.

* * *

><p>The evening feast at Hogwarts was a grand event. George stared at the heaps of food, no longer hungry; his appetite and his nerves seemed to have failed him sometime mid-afternoon, and now he was only wishing he could go back to bed undisturbed. Instead, he endured the craning stares from students eager for the task tonight and Fred's whispered reassurances, and tried not to throw up.<p>

At long last, the desserts faded away and Dumbledore rose from the head table. The single motion commanded silence. George felt a feverish cold rush along his brow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time I will invite you all to make your way down to the Quidditch pitch for the final task. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman now."

Fred and George looked at one another. George's heart had started a war march's drumbeat, and his mouth had gone dry. He read the same terror in Fred's eyes.

"Go on," Fred whispered, though, and gave him a slight shove, like he had when George's name had been called and he sat in stupefied silence. "We'll all be cheering for you, Forge. And remember: you're _bloody brilliant_."

Mechanically George got up and walked the length of the Gryffindor table. There was nothing he wanted to do less, but he forced himself to look at his classmates as he passed: to ingrain their features in his mind. Charlie gave him a reassuring grin; Bill offered a thumbs-up; Percy only nodded. Mrs Weasley clutched very tightly to Mr Weasley, tears in her eyes. Hermione mouthed, _Good luck_.

Then there were other voices cheering, Hogwarts and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang melding into one senseless roar. Colin and Dennis Creevey, both small, had stood up on the benches to applaud him; his teammates, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, cheered as if they were headed into the Quidditch Cup all over again. Dean shouted, Neville silently lifted his fist, Seamus beamed, Lavender cheered, Parvati cried: the faces of the Gryffindors, of his fellow DA members, swam and ran into one another. Then there was Patricia and Kenneth and Leanne and that giant McLaggen and a hundred other screaming faces whose names failed him at that moment.

By the time the doors to the Great Hall banged closed behind the champions, George's ear was ringing, and his eyes swam. He reached in his jeans pocket and was reassured to feel two small vials resting against his skin. In his opposite pocket pressed the flat surface of Sirius's mirror and a carefully folded sheaf of parchment.

They entered the Quidditch stadium and stood on the edge of a twenty-foot-tall hedge ensconcing the field. A gap in the hedge loomed in front of them, dark and menacing. As George neared, a breath of cold air seemed to emerge from the gap and he shivered.

All too soon, the stands around them began to fill. Students huddled in thick cloaks gazed down, faces shining in the sunset. George caught sight of the Weasleys grinning and waving at him in the front row. He could not see Hermione.

Dusk was falling, tinting the sky a deep velvety navy. George's palms slickened and he rubbed them on his jeans. Professor McGonagall, Barty Crouch Jr., Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid arrived, each bearing a large red star on their uniform.

"We will be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall explained. "If you find yourself in trouble, send red sparks into the air and we will come get you. Do you understand?"

The champions nodded. George watched the four disappear around the sides of the hedges, and when Hagrid's bulk at last bobbed out of sight, Bagman raised his voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand: in first place, Mr Harry Potter of Hogwarts School with eighty-five points! In second place, Mr Viktor Krum of Durmstrang Institute with eighty points! In third place, Mr George Weasley, also of Hogwarts School! And in fourth place, Miss Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons Academy!"

The crowd roared. Ludo Bagman, beaming, turned to Harry. "On my whistle," he said. "Ready? Three – two – one –"

A sharp whistle split the air. Harry, without chancing a glance back at the chanting crowd, plunged into the darkness of the maze; he turned left and disappeared from sight.

George's mouth was dry now.

"Mr Krum, if you please," said Bagman brightly. "We'll give him thirty seconds, and...now –"

Krum, too, stalked forward and disappeared between the hedges. Bagman nodded to George; he did not return the gesture but frostily stepped forward.

The whistle sounded for the third time, and George stepped into the maze. The hedges rose up on either side of him, plunging him into eerie silence. He blinked in the darkness and drew his wand.

"Lumos," he breathed. A low beam of light flickered across his vision, and George saw two paths ahead of him. He took the left, as Harry had done.

Leaves pressed in to either side. George could see no one, hear no one. Even the screams of the crowd had vanished into the whispering leaves. A whistle sounded in the distance, though he could not be that far from the entrance. That was Fleur's signal: they were all in the maze now.

Which meant that his game had started.

George stopped short. He cast his wand's glow up and down the path to ensure he was alone – then he drew the parchment from his pocket.

"I solemnly swear," he repeated in a whisper, "that I am up to no good."

Inky lines seeped across the map, drawn by an invisible hand. George smiled thinly to see the twists of the maze mapped out for him. A tiny dot labelled 'George Weasley' stood quite still in the center of the page. He prodded the map and searched, his breath coming in rasping gasps.

_There._

Harry was up ahead, a twist to the right, then left. Holding his wand in front of him, George hurried down the path as quickly as he dared. He was very glad to find his path deserted thus far. If Viktor and Fleur were somewhere behind him... He ignored them; he was quite certain they would be taken care of thanks to Barty Crouch Jr.

Harry was right up ahead now. George extinguished the light of his wand and crept forward. He could see his silhouette twisting about: Harry looked both ways, standing at another fork. Breath bated, George raised his wand.

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

He had no idea how Harry had heard him. As soon as he had spoken, his wand went flying from his hand and George cursed. Harry dove sideways, barely avoiding the bright flash of red light; in its glow he glimpsed his attacker and gasped.

"George, what -?"

George didn't give him a chance to answer. Unarmed, he lunged and grappled with Harry's wand arm. Harry shouted and thrashed, apparently a lot stronger than he looked. He overbalanced, though, and brought George down with him; they rolled in the dirt, George trying to get his wand away from him. Harry fought back with every bit of his will.

"George, you stupid git, it's me! _Harry_!"

As small and good at evading as Harry was, George hadn't been a Beater for nothing: he pinned Harry to the ground, one knee to his back, holding Harry's right arm twisted behind him. He used his other hand to pin Harry's left arm. George reckoned he'd be thanking Hermione for Fred's Muggle defence book later.

Panting, blood trailing from his nose, George wrestled Harry's wand from his slackening grip and pointed it at the thick of his black hair.

"Sorry, Potter," he said thickly. "I have to do this. Obliviate."

A warm glow of white light washed over the fourth year. Harry was momentarily stunned by the spell, and George quickly knocked him out with a "Stupefy". Finished, he hopped off Harry's back and flipped the holly wand over in his hand. It was a little less flexible than he was used to, but it would do.

"Accio wand," he commanded, and his own wand came flying back toward him from the shadows. He caught it and slipped it within his robes.

Now he rolled the still fourth year onto his back, awkwardly propping him up against his knee while he fumbled with one of the potion vials Hermione had given him. He lit the holly wand in order to squint at the label – good, this was the right one. He popped it open and tipped it back in Harry's mouth, and ensured that the comatose boy swallowed.

Then George pulled out the second flask. He plucked a bit of Harry's muddy hair and slipped it in the Polyjuice Potion. While he waited for the concoction to turn golden he grimaced and swiped his sleeve across his steadily bleeding nose, and cursed Harry's aim.

Then he summoned his wits and drank the potion.

The changes came instantly: he was shrinking, his vision blurring, his hair dragging back into his head and darkening. The left side of his head began to itch as, suddenly, he had an ear again. George didn't wait for the transformation to finish.

He bent over the George now unconscious on the ground, working loose his now too-tight robes. He fumbled out of the sleeves of his own robes and swapped them. He also traded his shoes for Harry's, since his old ones felt decidedly loose for Harry's feet. Finally, he sat up and pushed Harry's glasses up on his nose.

Right, then. He had exactly two hours to save the goddamn wizarding world. George drew a shaky breath and clenched Harry's wand in his fist as he stared down at his own body lying in the mud.

First step, complete.

George raised Harry's wand and sent red sparks into the air. He didn't linger for the Professors to arrive but set off at a dead run for the center of the maze.

He followed the twists and turns in front of him with one eye on his map, detouring whenever he caught sight of some creature moving in the shadows ahead. A little while back, he had noticed the tiny dot labelled 'Harry Potter' had disappeared from the maze; Fleur's dot had stopped moving, it seemed, but it was hard to tell with the map shaking in his fist as he ran. He swung around a corner and then –

Dead end.

George swore vehemently and chanced a look back at the map. No – he had taken a turn back there to avoid a sphinx. There was no going back. As it was, the Triwizard Cup was sitting right on the other side of this stupid wall.

Well...who said there absolutely _had_ to be a wall there, anyway.

George raised Harry's wand and prayed that it was as good as his own when it came to Charms.

"Incendio!"

The bushes disappeared in a rush of fire. It wasn't quite as effective as he'd hoped it would be: the flames flickered and died where they should have spread and burnt the entire godawful maze to the ground. He didn't care to wonder about the logistics. George plunged forward and scraped through the small hole he'd burned in the hedge. Prickles gouged across his face and bare hands: the gap was closing around him. With a last effort he shoved his shoulders through and stumbled to his feet, gasping and bleeding from a dozen new cuts.

He froze, panting in the silence.

The Triwizard Cup loomed in front of him on its pedestal, glowing palely in the moonlight. It was made of pure crystal, or so it seemed, for it reflected his image on all sides.

George drew an unsteady breath and straightened. This was it. No going back now. He dug in his pocket for the mirror and raised it to the Cup's light.

"Padfoot," he hissed.

Harry's reflection disappeared, replaced by the grizzled visage of Sirius Black.

"Scout? Is that you?"

George nodded. "I'm at the Cup now. Reckon it's time to do it."

"I'm on it," Sirius said. "You're doing wonderfully now. Just keep it up. Do it for him, Scout: it doesn't matter what else happens tonight. Just do it for him and we'll handle the rest."

George breathed out shakily. "Thanks, Padfoot. Well...I'll see you soon, I hope."

He slipped the mirror back in his pocket, wiped the map clean, and pocketed that as well. Then, inhaling a last, long breath of the clear night air, George stepped forward and grasped the icy handle of the Triwizard Cup.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Chapter Commentary:<p>

(1) George's Marauder name has a little bit of story behind it. During the Potterwatch, the trio identified "Rapier" as Fred, but they never heard George, so I decided "Scout" would have been his name.

Author's Note/Announcement:

The site overhauls its system every time I go away, it seems. Now we have a story cover feature, apparently. So, in light of this opportunity, and in honour of the fact that we're now nearly finished with GoF, I'd like to announce a contest.

Yes, that's right: a contest to make a cover design for FWE! I'm open to anything: sketches, digital art, movie pic collages, whatever tickles your fancy. I'll accept submissions until July 31, at which point I'll choose a winner.

The winning cover will be announced and displayed, with permission. The winner will also get a short story written by me with their choice of HP character and plot bunny. I will even write a canon pairing, if you so desire. :P

So...go forth and be creative! :D

And please remember to review!


	24. The Darkest Hour

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Cue 'Requiem for a Dream', or any other epic music of your choice. :P

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23 – The Darkest Hour<strong>

The darkness and the hedges disappeared in a great whirl of colour. George was expecting it, but he still tensed when the Portkey wrenched him forward into the spiral of light.

The next instant, George slammed into the ground. He rolled, coughing, and felt the Triwizard Cup bounce out of his grasp. He raised his head, blinking and forcing the much-needed glasses back into place on his nose. Little Hangleton's overgrown graveyard loomed around him. In the darkness, however, the shadows cast by the leaning headstones were a lot more menacing and the back of his neck prickled with the eerie sensation that he was being watched.

George scrambled to his feet, hastily pulling out his – Harry's – wand, but he did not dare light it. He scrubbed his sleeve across his nose. His face was smeared with blood, but he didn't have time to worry if his nose was broken right now. Breathing hard, he squinted through the darkness, knowing that any second now –

Something shifted in the shadows of a yew tree. George froze, his heart hammering against his ribs, and fought the instinct to run.

A hunched figure shuffled toward him out of the shadows, hooded and rasping. George's eyes fell on the bundle of cloth clutched to the man's chest and felt cold seeping through his veins.

He knew, in an instant, what it was.

"Do it," hissed a disembodied voice.

Wormtail set down the bundle and advanced on George. He took a step back, wand raised, but in the next second the holly wand had been torn from his grasp by an invisible force. Wormtail lunged and caught the neck of his robes.

George thrashed instinctively, but Harry did not possess his usual stature and could not break Wormtail's vice grip. Instead, he swung out blindly with his fists and only earned a very hard smack across the face. George's head jerked sideways, stinging, and he spluttered on his own blood.

The next second, the breath was knocked out of him as he slammed up against a headstone. The Death Eater leaned over him to mutter a spell and his putrid breath heated George's face. Ropes materialized around his torso: they cut into his flesh and it was suddenly a struggle to breathe.

Wormtail retreated. George could only watch as he hauled a cauldron sloshing with water into view. The small bundle wriggled on the ground, and George tried very hard not to look at it. His eyes roved toward Harry's wand on the ground.

Just a foot too far to his left.

Wormtail shuffled forward and prodded flames to life at the base of the cauldron. The liquid inside bubbled and sparked; its dim light refracted off stone.

The Death Eater bent and lifted a shape from the cloth. George shut his eyes, but it was too late: already the luminescent eyes, sunken within a flat noseless face, loomed behind his lids. A muted splash signalled the fall of the grotesque baby into the cauldron, and George swallowed sickly.

The grass near his feet whispered. George reopened his eyes and met the amber stare of an oily green serpent thicker than his neck. The Horcrux's forked tongue flitted in the air, tasted his scent; George wondered wildly if Polyjuice Potion had any effect on the snake's senses. Then the Horcrux turned her gleaming eyes away and glided off through the grass. George had never seen a snake that long.

He struggled anew until the ropes scraped his chest raw through his robes. Distantly he heard Wormtail's voice, in a tone quavering with fear.

"Bone of the father...unknowingly given...you will renew your son...!"

The ground shattered beneath George's feet. Until now, he had not realized he was tied to Tom Riddle's grave and that the statue of Death leered down at him. He forced himself not to move, not to look up, and stared instead at the trickle of dust drifting now toward the cauldron; it hit the surface with a hiss and the concoction glimmered deep blue.

"Flesh...of the servant...w-willingly given...you will...revive...your master..." Wormtail was quavering harder now; a glint of silver shook in his hand as he raised it. George stared at him, but a moment later he wished he hadn't.

The Death Eater's hand dropped into the cauldron and it boiled furiously red. Wormtail sobbed, clutching his stump of an arm. But soon he was back on his feet and staggering in George's direction with purpose.

George's heart was thundering now. He knew what was about to happen, but his mind recoiled, violently, from the thought. He could not stand to have this traitor touch him. He could not stand to watch the Dark Lord rebirth. George stared at the wand on the ground again and willed it to his hand.

"Blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect...your foe..."

Wormtail came toward him, clutching the knife slippery with blood, and George felt his previous sickness closing in his throat. He pulled sideways and the ropes squeezed his chest; he coughed and felt a sharp stab of pain in his right arm. Through watering eyes he saw Wormtail hold out a phial to collect the blood trickling from his sleeve.

Then it was done. Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron and added the drops of George's blood. The potion hissed and then – so suddenly – white light flared across his vision. Wormtail curled at its base, clutching his bleeding arm, while a thick sheen of fog billowed off the top of the cauldron.

The cold statue behind him seemed to have leeched all warmth and feeling from his blood. George hung against the headstone and stared, unblinkingly, at the cauldron.

And then from within the white mist he glimpsed a figure: a man, no, more a skeleton than a man. Lord Voldemort's flesh was as pale as moonlight, as lifeless as death, and it clung to the bony crags of his frame. His face was thin and narrow and resembled that of a snake more than a man's; and from within sunken sockets glowed a pair of cold, red eyes.

For a long moment, George could not move; he could barely even breathe.

It was him.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

"Robe me," hissed the Dark Lord.

Cold clutched at the base of George's lungs. That rasping voice shattered the months of effort he had put into his mental shields. He was in the Great Hall again, his mum was wailing, dust clung heavily in his lungs and Fred's hair was tainted red in his hands.

And that cold voice echoed up from the recesses of his mind. _"You have fought valiantly..." _Voldemort spoke across the shattered halls of Hogwarts, drowning out the wails of the mourners. _"Yet you have sustained heavy losses, and if you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one..."_

A terrible scream jerked George out of the memory; the ropes burned his chest and he leaned forward, gasping against them. Wormtail was on the ground, whimpering, clutching his left arm. George glimpsed the Dark Mark blazing against his skin before Voldemort swept in front of his vision.

"It is back..." the Dark Lord relished. "It is back, and they will all have noticed... Now we will see... Now we will _know_..."

A cruel smile twisted the snake's face and the red eyes flitted over to George. He swore his heart was thundering fast enough to explode.

This was how it would end, George thought suddenly.

He had just seen Voldemort come to life.

Voldemort was going to kill him.

George did not notice the Death Eaters' appearance. All of a sudden, he was aware that Voldemort was speaking again. Hazily George gazed around the graveyard and made out the shadows of hooded cloaks. They were two dozen strong – far less than the numbers Voldemort would accumulate in a year – and they did not form a complete circle around him.

"I see you all here before me, healthy and powerful, and yet not one of you – not one – came to the aid of your master, to whom you swore eternal loyalty?"

Voldemort was furious. His silky voice lowered and became deadly steel. The Death Eaters did not answer him; some seemed to shrink back from the circle.

"I confess myself disappointed."

As Voldemort turned away, one of the Death Eaters broke the ranks and flung himself at his feet.

"Master, please forgive us...!"

George knew what was coming before the man started to scream and thrash on the ground. His head pulsed, but he did not look away.

"I do not forgive, Avery," Voldemort hissed at last. "I do not forget. I want thirteen years of repayment from each of you. Wormtail here has already begun to repay his debt, he who returned to me not out of loyalty but out of fear of his old friends... But I am an honest master...those who serve will be repaid." At last, he turned to the figure whimpering on the ground by the cauldron.

"Your arm, Wormtail."

He trembled and proffered his bloody stump. Silver light twisted from the end of Voldemort's wand and, in midair, shifted into a human hand. It attached itself to Wormtail's wrist, who gazed at the shining appendage in wonder.

"M-master is too kind..."

Voldemort turned away, skulking the circle of Death Eaters like a predator. As Voldemort reprimanded his followers, George silently tallied their names, matched them to his memory. Malfoy, less full of himself in his master's presence; Macnair, the head-hunter; Crabbe and Goyle, silent giants; Nott, cold and aloof; Avery, twitching in fear.

At last, Malfoy addressed the Dark Lord. "Master...we crave to know... We beg you to tell us...how you have achieved this...this miracle...how you managed to return to us..."

"Ah, and what an interesting story it is, Lucius," Voldemort said softly. He glided forward and stood next to George, who did not have the strength to struggle. "It begins and ends with my friend Harry Potter here.

"You all know, of course, that they call this boy my downfall? That, when I tried to kill him, his mother sacrificed her life to save him...and unwittingly provided him with a protection I could not have foreseen. I could not touch the boy. It was old magic, an oversight on my part. But when I arose tonight...it was with very old magic, too, dark magic. I needed three powerful ingredients: the flesh of a servant – already at hand – the bone of my father, on whose grave we now stand, and the blood of an enemy."

Voldemort paused; a cruel smile curved his lips. "Wormtail would have had me choose any wizard who had hated me, as there are quite enough who still do, but no... I desired the blood of Harry Potter, the one so foolishly believed to have been my downfall. Now, the protection that runs in his veins now runs in mine as well."

Voldemort smiled coldly and raised one skeletal finger, and George felt the sickness lurch in his throat.

"I can touch him now."

The icy touch caressed his cheek. Voldemort's hand would taint hundreds of lives and take hundreds more; but George would not allow himself to flinch at the contact.

He would not give Voldemort that pleasure.

"It took me so many long months to accomplish," hissed Voldemort. "But here we are now, are we not, Harry? Away from Hogwarts and the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore. And now I shall have the greatest joy of killing you, you who thought you were my downfall. I want there to be no mistake: you escaped me by chance last time, and now we shall see who is truly stronger!"

All at once, George's bindings fell away. He stumbled and crumpled to his knees on Tom Riddle's grave. The Death Eaters' laughter echoed in his ears. George drowned them out: he had focus only for the holly wand. In an instant, he had it clenched in his right fist.

The circle closed around him. There was no escape now: Voldemort stood in front of him, his wand raised, a fearsome glint in his ruby eyes.

This was it. This was how he would die.

"Now..." purred Voldemort. "Face me like a man, straight-backed and proud... Like your father before I killed him..."

George pressed his palms to the mud in front of him and rose. As he faced the Dark Lord and watched him raise his wand, George's mind suddenly conjured an image of Hermione. Hermione, who had become closer than a friend to him over the last long months.

_I'm sorry,_ he thought to her. _This is as far as I can go. You'll have to do the rest – you and Sirius. At least I'll have cleared the way a bit for you._

"Crucio!" Voldemort cackled.

An intense pain like nothing else seized his body. As many times as he had thrown off curses in class, as many times as he had steeled his mind to resist, George was helpless now. He crumpled to his knees and a strangled scream tore from his lips. His vision swayed and left him. Behind his lids seared white pain, pain enough to make his head explode, he couldn't think, he couldn't_ breathe_ –

And then it was gone. George rolled over on the ground, shaking beyond measure. The holly wand was gone. In a panic he fumbled for it, blindly. His hand hit on something flat and rectangular instead.

Sirius's mirror had fallen from his pocket. He closed his fist around it and glimpsed the figure beneath its surface – but it was not Sirius. It was not even Harry.

"Crucio!" Voldemort bellowed again.

George recoiled. His body jerked of its own accord. Blind with agony he thrashed and curled tight on his side and whimpered for it to go away. But he would not scream again.

It stopped.

Deadened cold seeped into his limps as he pressed himself to the mud and stared up at the dark sky. Tonight the stars had hidden away their fire; tonight, the sky was as murky as it had been in the Great Hall when Fred died, and at the thought George swung up to a crouch. He discovered Harry's wand in a patch of grass beside him and picked it up.

George staggered to his feet, caked in dirt and blood and plagued by a thousand aches, but a grim glare had settled upon his face.

If this was it, if he had to die here, he would not do it on the ground at Voldemort's feet. He would go out laughing. He would die taunting fate, like Fred had.

Like Fred wouldn't have to now.

And, somehow, a weak smirk came to George's lips. Voldemort didn't know it, but he was standing there in Harry's place and his careful plans were already thwarted. All but one of his Horcruxes were gone, or soon would be, and the charmed blood he had so desperately worked to achieve was nothing but the blood of a Weasley.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "What's so funny, boy? I will still kill you. No one can save you now."

He advanced, silent as a ghost in his billowing black robes. George took a step back toward the headstone, his wand raised defensively.

"You can't kill Harry Potter," George said, still smiling. His voice was eerily calm. Funny, that: as soon as he had resigned himself to his fate here, the fear left him. Instead George calculated, searching the ring of Death Eaters, pressing for as much time as he could.

After all, Fred wouldn't forgive him if he left them without one last jibe.

"Such brash nerve..." hissed Voldemort, his flat nostrils flaring. "You'll regret that, Harry... You'll see very well what I am capable of! _Crucio_!"

But this time, George was ready. He flung himself behind the headstone and felt the heat of the blazing red light over his shoulder. The Death Eaters laughed as they closed in. Voldemort's footsteps whispered nearer. George chanced a glimpse in his mirror. Sirius was back, his mouth moving, but George could not make out his words.

"We're not playing hide and seek, Harry," Voldemort whispered. The Dark Lord no longer deluded him with his silky words; an undercurrent layered his voice with pure hatred.

George peered around the edge of Tom Riddle's headstone and grinned. "Oh, really? Maybe I'm not clear on the rules, then."

He raised the holly wand. Voldemort imitated him, a snarl curling the snake's lips; but George did not attempt to attack him. He did not even attempt to defend himself.

Instead, with a soft pop, he Disapparated.

When George reappeared a split second later, he heard a roar behind him. He peered out of the shadow of a dilapidated headstone and glimpsed the nearest Death Eaters circling in confusion. From their midst Voldemort snarled.

"Find him! Bring him to me! He cannot leave this place!"

The Death Eaters darted in every direction, driven by feral fear. George stayed low in the dirt and was silently thankful for Harry's darker hair that blended into the deep shadows.

Two large figures stumbled toward him, their glowing wands jaggedly piercing the darkness. Crabbe and Goyle, George thought.

They had not seen him yet. George raised his wand. "Stupefy!"

He caught one of them unawares and he went down, unmoving; the other deflected his spell and lifted his wand to counter. Already George dove back under cover and Disapparated.

When he rematerialized, George gasped aloud and hastily closed his hand over his mouth. A sheen of blood leaked down his left arm; his fingers were numb.

George bit down on his thumb. _Damn it._ Damn Harry's unforgiving wand. Damn splinching himself at a time like this!

He tore his left sleeve loose and bound it clumsily, one-handed, over the worst of the wound. The cut spread deep from his elbow nearly to his wrist, and he twitched his fingers weakly, wincing. It would have to do for now.

He glanced over his shoulder. The Death Eaters moved as swiftly as dark bats between the gravestones; Crabbe or Goyle still lay forgotten on the ground.

He was outnumbered twenty to one, and George knew he couldn't dare keep this up. Sooner or later, he would fall straight into the Death Eaters' grasp, and he'd already splinched himself once. He'd done his part – Voldemort was back by his blood. If only he could get out of here, he'd be laughing.

Then George's eyes fell on the soft glow of the Triwizard Cup. It lay where he had dropped it, close to the fence and the bowing trees. Just ten meters to his left. If he ran, he could make it.

He shifted to his feet, clutched his wounded arm tight to his body, and drew a breath. Then George broke into a run. There was a shout; Death Eaters were pounding after him; a bright curse flashed.

"_Protego_!" George yelled, jabbing his wand over his shoulder. A shimmering shield burst around him and he dove behind the next tombstone. The stone shattered next to his ear and he ducked lower with a curse. George fired blindly over his temporary shelter.

By the screaming, his curse had hit two. That was the Furnunculus Hex, they wouldn't like that. George smirked and hefted himself back to his feet. Only a few more meters now –

A hand seized the neck of his robes. George froze, but that was a mistake: in the next instant he felt the jab of a wand between his shoulder blades. He inhaled sharply and heard a chuckle behind him.

"Well, well, Potter... I see someone saw fit to ensure your...competence with magic..."

That voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck. George couldn't move, though, not with Malfoy's wand digging into his back. The Death Eaters around them closed in, cackling like hyenas awaiting the kill.

"Go on, Lucius, let's hear him scream," relished Avery.

But Lucius Malfoy did not curse him. There was a sharp crack to their right; then another, and then suddenly the graveyard was filled with witches and wizards, all of whom had their wands at the ready. For an instant, no one moved. The Death Eaters stared at the Aurors; the Aurors stared at the Death Eaters.

Then someone sighted Voldemort and gave a shout.

"_No_ -!" the Dark Lord bellowed. He whirled to find George limp in Malfoy's grip, and his red eyes narrowed to slits. "You! How could you...! How did they _know_...?"

George's head was swimming and he was too aware of the numbness of his arm, but he thought of Fred and grinned. "Not your day, is it?"

Lord Voldemort snarled and raised his wand. In a whirl of black cloak he had disappeared, and the Death Eaters followed in disjointed panic. The Aurors reacted: they took down two of the Death Eaters as they fled. Crabbe or Goyle was still unconscious, and George thought he saw a young Tonks leaning over him, cautiously prodding him with her wand.

Malfoy clearly saw he was outnumbered. He snarled next to his ear, "This isn't finished, Potter, mark my words." Then he, too, Disapparated and George slumped unencumbered to the ground. By the way his legs shook, he doubted he could rise again.

He wondered briefly if he even wanted to at the moment.

"Potter, are you all right?" The deep voice made him look up. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood over him, his regal dark face grave. He held out his hand and George gratefully took it, staggering to his feet.

"Yeah...I'll survive, I think," he said with a faint smile.

"Should we go after them?" This query came from a grizzled wizard with one eye.

"No, Gesselhaft. They are aware of us now; they will be hiding." Kingsley nodded to the three comatose forms on the ground. "Take them in. Question them. We'll find out soon enough what the hell's been going on."

As he spoke, his hand remained heavy on George's shoulder. He was thankful; he would not be able to stand without it. Currently his vision swayed dangerously.

"As for you, Potter, Dumbledore will be worried about you. Back to school now, I reckon."

"The Cup..." George mumbled. "The Cup's a Portkey..."

"We know. A tip tonight suggested we would find you here, and the Dark Lord..." Kingsley paused and his brow furrowed. "He has risen again, hasn't he, Potter..."

"Yeah," George concurred, very quietly. "He has."

Without a further word, Kingsley guided him to the Portkey. He called to Gesselhaft and a witch, Simmons, ordering them to take charge of the search; then he picked up the Triwizard Cup, his hand still firm on George's shoulder.

For the second time that night, the world dissolved in a wild rush of colours, and George closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>The next thing he knew, he had slammed into the ground on his knees; the Cup bounced away across the grass. A roar of noise assailed his senses; seemingly very far off, the crowd strained on its feet for a view of their champion. George didn't move, though; he knelt in the damp grass just outside the maze, Kingsley's firm hand still resting on his shoulder.<p>

"Ah, well done, Potter!" Ludo Bagman's voice boomed somewhere overhead. "You've done it! You've –"

But Bagman stopped short. Kingsley had left his side. George summoned the wits to lift his head and sighted the Auror conferring in a murmur with the judges. From this angle George saw Cornelius Fudge's face whiten; Madam Maxime press a hand to her mouth; Karkaroff shrink back, his eyes flicking about the surrounding pitch as if Death Eaters might rain down on them at any moment.

Then George reverted his stare to the ground. It was incredibly hard to think at the moment: his head was still spinning. He pressed his trembling hands to the muddy grass and silently marvelled at the wetness on his skin. He was alive. He had seen Voldemort in the flesh and somehow, by some miracle, he had_ survived_...

George blinked. Suddenly Dumbledore's glasses winked in front of him. The Headmaster was saying something: George went cross-eyed focusing on his moving lips. "Is this true, Harry? You saw Voldemort return?"

The side of his head itched. George longed for nothing more than to lie down, to forget about tonight, to see Fred if he could... Fred had to be out of his mind right now...

Nevertheless, somehow, he forced himself to nod; his tongue weighed too heavy to speak.

A tingling sensation crept across his skull. George knew Dumbledore was searching for justification in his memories and he grasped at his Occlumency shields. It wasn't enough; he was too weak to focus on fortifying his mind. Black spots flitted across his vision and the faintest whimper escaped him.

With that, the tingling presence withdrew. Someone had called Dumbledore aside. Off to his left, the judges demanded Kingsley's story again. Feet hurried all around him, but George didn't trust himself to move from the ground. Very distantly, the crowd was still screaming.

His gaze slid back out of focus and he wondered where Hermione was in all this bustle. Had she heard yet? Maybe she was coming for him. Her, and Fred. The thought brought a smile to his cracked lips.

_Hey, Fred? I did it._

_I did it, Freddie..._

The hard surface of Sirius's mirror jammed in his pocket, but he didn't have the strength to reach it.

And then there was a hand under his arm, hauling him to his feet. Someone, some wonderful person was pulling him away from the unruly confusion of the Quidditch stadium. Up across the dark lawn, into the stony Entrance Hall, George allowed his head to droop against his rescuer and he mumbled something incomprehensible in thanks.

After a while, though, George registered the solitary slap of their hurried footsteps. Something like a curious thump echoed his feet. His mind was still trapped in a fog, and it was a long moment before he glanced downward.

Whoever was half-carrying him bore a wooden leg.

George's memory sparked. Unbidden terror gripped his senses and he thrashed against the vice grip of his captor, a wild yell forming in his throat.

"Calm down, Potter, it's only me," growled a familiar voice.

George hadn't the strength to fight him. He went limp and Barty Crouch Jr. clunked up the marble staircase, dragged him down the twisting corridors. There was no use in screaming: the castle was deserted.

At long last Crouch shouldered through the door to his office and deposited George in a large chair, a bit more roughly than necessary. He did not bother lighting the stubs of candles littering the desk behind him; he leered down at George with his magical eye twitching erratically, his claw-like fists holding George's shoulders pinned.

"They're saying the Dark Lord's back. Is that true, Potter?"

George stared up into the Death Eater's wild, grizzled expression. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "He's back."

Crouch just as suddenly released him. He shoved a sloshing cup into his grasp and clunked toward his trunk. "Now," he said, his back to George, "tell me exactly what happened."

George didn't touch the Veritaserum. "I... The Cup was a Portkey," he mumbled. He eyed Crouch's back and wondered if he could get the holly wand free before the magical eye noticed him. "It took me to a graveyard... A man..."

George trailed off and his breath hitched. The left side of his head burned; he could literally feel Harry's ear melting away. He panicked but knew he had to keep talking; to keep Crouch distracted. He fumbled for his words.

"The man...his name was Wormtail... He made some potion to bring him back... The Death Eaters came..."

The office went blurry around him. George could feel his hair sprouting longer; from the corner of his eye, it was lightening. Harry's shoes pinched his toes. His vision went blurry.

"Ah..."

In a split second, Crouch had lunged at him. His hands caught the front of George's robes and pinned him in his chair before he could even think of reaching for his wand.

"Mr Weasley," Crouch growled. "I see. I _see_... I thought you had a nose for trouble."

George tried to protest, but only a whimper escaped him.

"Polyjuice Potion, was it?" Crouch's contorted face loomed too close to his. "An ingenious little ploy on your part. I must know how you knew of the Dark Lord's plans tonight... How you saw fit to foil them..."

George said nothing.

"Answer me, boy!" Crouch snarled, jabbing his wand into George's chest. "Tell me how you knew of the meeting! It was arranged in secrecy, between three alone... No, it is impossible...! _Your blood now runs in the Dark Lord's veins! Answer me, boy!_"

"I... I didn't know..." he made out, staring into those wild mismatched eyes. "Harry and I decided to switch places to give ourselves an advantage... It had nothing to do...nothing to do with any of this..."

"You foolish boy, I know you're lying!" Crouch shook him violently. "Did Dumbledore put you up to this? Tell me!"

"No," George answered honestly enough.

"Damn you, boy! Have you any idea how much of the Dark Lord's plans are at risk -?"

George regained his breath and lifted his chin coldly. "You...sound rather cozy with him."

A crazed look came into the Death Eater's eyes. "Yes... You would not know, boy, that I am his most loyal servant. I returned when all others cowered in fear. I manipulated the Tournament all year so that Harry Potter would fall into my master's waiting arms – but now you've destroyed our plans!" he snarled. "I had my eye on you all year, Weasley: I should have suspected something like this from you. You, who proved yourself with spells grown wizards would struggle with! You, who entered the Tournament, underage, unaided! Why, I even thought someone with that sort of cunning and skill would do well in the service of the Dark Lord!"

"Yeah...?" George glared at him, somewhat dizzied from Crouch shaking him. "I don't imagine he'd like to see me again."

Crouch let out an angry howl. "Who are you _working for_, boy?"

"No one," said George coldly.

"You lie!" Crouch brandished his wand. "Tell me the truth! Legitimens!"

It was nothing like when Hermione had tried invading his mind. Raw pain as sharp as the Cruciatus curse stabbed into his skull and George screamed. He was hardly aware of Crouch standing over him with his eyes gleaming insanely; he was hardly aware of the dark office swimming around them, misty shapes swirling in the foe-glass. George's head was splitting in two; white light flared behind his eyes. He couldn't hold him off. He was too weak already from fighting –

And then the dam broke.

Memories flooded his mind, flashing backward so quickly that he could hardly register each one before it passed. He was sitting at the Gryffindor table, staring wide-eyed up at Dumbledore who had just called his name as Hogwarts champion. He and Hermione stood back-to-back against the Death Eaters while the Veil billowed at their backs. The Great Hall was strewn with rubble and blood and he sat with a dazed look in his eyes and Fred's head in his lap. He spoke his brother's name and heard eternity echo back at him.

The dark office faded into view. George trembled in the confines of the chair. His cheeks were wet and he mumbled Fred's name again, haplessly.

Crouch stood triumphantly over him, breathing laboured. "So that's how you managed it... That's how you knew our every move... You came back to save him, did you, Weasley?"

George said nothing.

"You've made a terrible mistake now, boy, yes," Crouch relished the words. "I know what you've been up to and I know how greatly the Dark Lord will rise again. Yes...and once I return to him, once I bring him_ this_ news... You can be certain, Weasley, that your dear brother will be the first to die!"

George opened his mouth and closed it again. He had nothing left. Even if he could reach for his wand, Crouch would kill him before he had the wits to counter. He had failed. Crouch knew everything. Crouch would tear apart everything. Their carefully weaved plans. And Fred.

George couldn't let him have Fred, but he couldn't move, either.

"And imagine how richly I will be rewarded when I, Lord Voldemort's most loyal servant, bring this knowledge to him." Crouch savoured the words. "Oh, yes, how I will be regarded... Those other fools will suffer for their cowardice! And once he learns I have eliminated you -!"

Crouch raised his wand with his mismatched eyes gleaming down at him. The words were on his lips; George stared at him, but his mind was back in the Great Hall that night long in the future.

_Fred, don't you dare give up like I did,_ George thought fiercely. _You and Hermione'll be happy together. She's brilliant: she'll get you through this. And you'll get on swimmingly with Sirius. You'll be a bloody brilliant father one of these days, too._

_And as for me, well..._

_Thanks for staying with me this long, Freddie._

George closed his eyes.

"Stupefy!" three voices chorused.

In a flash of red light Barty Crouch Jr. flew backward. He collided with the trunk at the far wall with a sickening crack and slumped there, motionless. George's eyes had snapped open again and he stared blankly at the comatose Death Eater; then, slowly, he turned his head toward the doorway.

The door had been blasted off its hinges. Instead, three achingly familiar figures stood framed in the gap. Fred, Hermione, and Sirius Black held their wands on Crouch, and each bore an expression that could kill.

Sirius lurched into the room first, heading for Crouch's body. His face betrayed absolute disgust as he kicked the imposer onto his back. George could see a trail of blood trickling along Crouch's forehead; he was unconscious.

Meanwhile, Fred and Hermione ran to George's side. While Fred stopped and stared wide-eyed and ashen-faced at his twin, Hermione collected a pair of slightly crushed glasses from the floor and subtly stuffed them in her pocket.

"George," Fred croaked. He clutched at George's numb left arm and swallowed thickly. "George – what the bloody hell happened? Why'd you leave the pitch?"

For a moment, George only stared at him. He knew by Fred's expression that he was a mess: his nose had stopped bleeding a while ago, but scratches stung against his cheeks and blood had dried on his lip. As he looked at Fred, his eyes blurred again.

But when he spoke, distractedly swiping at his eyes, George was smiling. "'Course...'course I'm fine. I'm bloody brilliant, all right? Don't doubt me, you git."

Hermione's hand closed gently on his opposite wrist. "We should get you to the hospital wing."

Fred didn't move. "First I'd like to find out what the bloody hell _he_," he jerked his head in the unconscious Crouch's direction, "was doing with you."

"I think," Sirius grunted, flicking his wand at Crouch so that his body began to hover a few inches in the air, "that there is a very good explanation for that. Mainly, that this man is a Death Eater."

"A Death -?" Fred burst out incredulously. "He's an Auror! Dumbledore trusted –"

"This is not Mad-Eye Moody, I can assure you," Sirius said calmly. He sent Crouch floating toward the chair, and Fred and Hermione hastened to get George out of the way. He wavered, one arm around each of their shoulders, and felt the world spin around him. In a daze he watched Sirius tie down Crouch in the chair and then send a silvery flare out the doorway. Fred glanced after it curiously.

"We'll hear from Dumbledore himself what's going on here," Sirius explained grimly.

George opened his mouth. "He knows," he rasped. Sirius froze and glanced sharply at him. "He knows...everything. I...I couldn't stop him...in my mind..."

"Knows what?" demanded Fred, but Sirius, paling, interceded.

"This young man is clearly exhausted. Take him up to the hospital wing, both of you. I'll see to Dumbledore."

That silenced Fred, if only because George was leaning heavily against him now. With a terse nod and a last wary glance at Crouch, Fred turned about and marched George from the room.

Hermione struggled to balance George's weight, so halfway down the corridor the three stopped short and Fred picked him up instead. He hoisted George on his back, like how Charlie had carried them when they were little and they played ride-the-dragon. George smiled a little at the thought and tightened his arms around Fred's shoulders.

"...Fred?" he whispered as his brother started to climb the moving staircases, Hermione a step in front of him.

"Yeah?"

"...I did it, Fred. I did it."

"I know." There was a grin in Fred's voice. "And you were bloody brilliant, Georgie."

George smiled and closed his eyes. At last, he welcomed the darkness.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

And so it ends. But not really, because, as you can probably guess, George and Hermione (and Sirius) have stepped up their game now! You can expect the future to be more than slightly altered now that Voldemort's return has a dozen or so eyewitnesses.

Some lines, notably Voldemort's, are borrowed from Goblet of Fire. In compiling his speech to the Death Eaters, I realized, man, Voldemort _really_ loves to hear himself talk. I think George eventually just stopped listening here.

He didn't get to do much this chapter, but I'm pretty sure Fred just gained a level in badass. I'll let you decide about George. :P

And don't forget about the FWE cover contest! I'm still open to entries until the 31st!

And as always, please review!


	25. Nightmares Reborn

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Here come the explanations and loose ends, and you know what that means: extra-long chapter ahead. :P And don't forget contest results are below!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24 – Nightmares Reborn<strong>

When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey immediately swept over to the trio with a thin purse to her lips. She directed Fred to set his twin on a free bed and bustled off to retrieve ointment for his wounds. As soon as she had gone and Fred and Hermione had settled on the edge of his bed, George opened his eyes.

The Hogwarts champion tilted his head sideways, blearily casting in the direction of the half-veiled bed across the room. There, a black-haired figure was just visible, stilled in sleep.

"It's over now," Hermione reaffirmed quietly. "You did it, George... You finished the third task."

George rolled over and looked at Fred. He didn't seem to trust his tightening throat, so Fred only nodded to bolster her words. George cracked a smile.

"Brilliant," he croaked, and closed his eyes again.

Hermione watched while George slipped into a doze. His features betrayed strained weariness that she had only glimpsed once on his face – and had hoped never to see again – but even with blood spattering his jaw, even with dirt patching his temples, she thought she saw something else in George's face, too. For the first time she could remember, he looked almost serene.

_You did it,_ she echoed silently, and smiled for the incredibly brave man she had come to know since November. _You did what none of us could have, and I'm so proud of you, George._

Suddenly Fred's hand closed over her own. Hermione glanced sharply sideways; his eyes had not moved from his twin's face, but she felt Fred's fingers shake as they clutched a little tighter to hers.

Quietly, Hermione squeezed his hand in return. "He'll be all right now."

"Yeah..." Fred dragged a breath. "I'm glad it's over."

"Me, too," Hermione echoed, her heart aching. "Me, too."

When Madam Pomfrey strode back into sight, lips pursed, a roll of bandages and a purple bottle of dreamless sleep potion at hand, Hermione and Fred found themselves ushered aside. They paced a few steps back to placate the matron, but Fred would budge no further. Neither seemed to be aware that they were still clutching desperately to the other. Instead they watched in silence while Madam Pomfrey sealed George's cuts and fussed over his bloodied left arm.

Hermione at last pulled her eyes from where the matron poured out her dreamless sleeping draught. "Fred," she pressed carefully, "your family... They'll be worrying... You should let them know we're here."

Fred didn't move; he didn't blink away from his twin's face. "'Mione, what about...?"

Hermione squeezed his hand again. "I'll stay with him. Just a few minutes, Fred. I'm sure he'll have a long story for us in the morning, but right now, we should let him sleep."

Still Fred hesitated. At last, though, he sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped. "All right. I'll be back in a few."

He turned toward the ward door; then he paused again, and suddenly he had come back toward her. Without a word he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, fiercely.

"Thanks..." he said gruffly, "for bringing us upstairs when you did... If we hadn't stopped him..."

Hermione nodded, cutting off his trailing voice. Fred cleared his throat and strode back to the door, and soon his footsteps had faded down the hall.

In his absence, Hermione perched on the edge of George's bed. He lay as if asleep, but the goblet of purple potion sat untouched on the bedside cabinet. Tentatively she touched his hand; his knuckles were bruised.

"George?"

"What happened?" he rasped.

Hermione checked over her shoulder; Madam Pomfrey had retreated to her office, and Harry was still sleeping. Nonetheless, she laid out a silencing ward with her wand before settling beside George again. Once more, she took his hand.

"When you sent up red sparks in the maze, Professor McGonagall went and brought Harry – well, Harry disguised as you – out. I volunteered to take him up to the hospital wing. He only had a half-dose of Polyjuice, so I tended his wounds and kept him under the cloak until it wore off, and then I called Dobby."

She smiled at the look on his face. "He's sworn to secrecy, of course. I told him to keep watch, and as soon as you, disguised as Harry, came out of the maze, he was to take the real Harry to the hospital wing."

Hermione took a breath. "When he heard you through the mirror, Sirius immediately went to the Aurors with a tip about the Death Eaters. He went straight to Kingsley Shacklebolt; he's Dumbledore's man, so he knew he could trust Sirius. I don't think Sirius told him about Voldemort – just that there was talk of Death Eaters planning a ritual in that graveyard. Kingsley has no love for Death Eaters walking free, so Sirius didn't have a problem convincing him.

"You know the rest, I suppose. Sirius came straight to Hogwarts to meet with me afterward. He was so worried about you; he said you were fighting Voldemort." George said nothing to that, so Hermione went on bravely. "We'd just seen Dobby off with Harry when we saw Crouch had gotten hold of you. Sirius wanted to track you upstairs straightaway. We would have, but," and here she allowed a sheepish smile, "Fred found us first. He'd been to the hospital wing and back looking for you. By then, the pitch was in chaos. So I told him Professor Moody had you, and he followed us upstairs. We might have to explain some things to him later, but, it seemed like the best option at the time."

"You came just at the right time," George echoed. He breathed deeply and a wince flickered over his features. "So...your plan worked, then. The Ministry knows he's back... Voldemort doesn't have Harry's blood... Crouch's outed..."

George turned his head and gazed blearily at where Harry lay across from them.

"Madam Pomfrey gave him a good bit of sleeping draught, earlier," Hermione reported quietly. "He'll be out until tomorrow, at least. We should have our stories worked out by then."

When George didn't react to that, she squeezed his hand and said warmly, "Your part is done now, George. Just try to get some sleep now. Sirius and I can handle the rest."

He made an indistinct noise in his throat. "The memories..." George cleared his throat. "You gonna give him the memories now?"

"If you're ready. If you're not strong enough –"

"They'll be asking questions soon as he wakes up," George cut her off with a grunt. He forced himself up against the pillows; Hermione steadied his shoulders. "Better now than later."

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to gather himself. Then, as George closed his eyes, she gently touched her wand-tip to his temple.

"You'll have to do this on your own... I don't have a pensieve handy."

George's brow furrowed. Hermione watched him anxiously. She didn't need Legilimency to imagine what he now saw in his mind: the graveyard looming in the dusk, the Death Eaters convening, Voldemort himself rising anew; yet, it would be an invented, gapped memory that they provided to Harry. Inaccuracies, he could excuse as his own exhaustion.

When George reopened his eyes, Hermione pulled away with a silvery filament attached to the tip of her wand.

"That should do... He'll know what he's up against, at least." George forced a weak smile, but he was exhausted, more clearly than ever.

Hermione left him and crossed to Harry's bed. Nevertheless, as she stood over the fourteen-year-old figure of her best friend, a lump rose in her throat. She hated to do this. She hated to burden him with the knowledge that he alone could wage this war against Voldemort.

But, she didn't have a choice, either. Whether any of them liked it or not, war was what they had on their hands now. Biting her lip, Hermione bent forward and whispered the spell; the tip of her wand glowed and the silvery strand of thought sank into Harry's consciousness. He stirred for a moment in his sleep, and Hermione's breath caught; but then he was still and serene once more.

At that moment, under the effects of the dreamless sleep potion, Harry Potter looked just like any other fourteen-year-old boy. How could he be the one destined – no, burdened – to save the world?

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

She brushed his unruly hair off his forehead and kissed him, gently, before she set his repaired glasses on the nightstand next to his wand. Then she returned to where George sat, solemn and drained.

"We've done it, then," he said when she neared. He didn't quite look at her. He had his hands buried in his hair; one drifted over the old gap of his left ear. "We've started the next war."

Hermione didn't get the chance to answer. At that moment, there was a sudden commotion near the door, and Hermione turned to glimpse what seemed to be the entire Weasley family running toward them. Fred reached George's bedside first: before anyone could stop him, he had wordlessly clambered onto the mattress next to his twin and crushed him in a hug.

Hermione looked around. Percy, Charlie, and Bill hovered, all quite pale. Mrs Weasley dabbed at tears in her eyes; Mr Weasley's hand rested on her shoulder. Ginny and Ron inched toward Harry's bed.

"Oh, Georgie, we're so very glad you're safe." Mrs Weasley mopped her eyes on her sleeve. "You wouldn't have heard. Harry...he took the Cup, but it was a Portkey, and...and he saw You-Know-Who come back to life..."

She warbled and trailed off. Percy took up the tale. "Someone tipped the Ministry off, so the Aurors were able to rescue him in time. Mr Shacklebolt gave the announcement. No one took it very well, to say the least... No one could have expected it..."

Percy, too, trailed off. In the near silence, the Weasleys took turns hugging their haggard Hogwarts champion – or at least attempting to, since Fred wasn't letting anyone else near his twin. Hermione left the family their space and instead drifted to the far window. On the horizon, the Quidditch stadium blazed brightly against the darkness. She wondered if people were still out there, how they were reacting to the news...

Hermione pulled out of her thoughts to notice a large black beetle creeping out of a crack in a sill. She reacted: she snatched up the insect in one hand as she pulled the enchanted vial she'd been holding onto from her pocket. Safely stowed and capped, Hermione eyed the beetle with its round marking around its eyes, and she allowed a tiny smirk.

She'd been wondering when Rita Skeeter would show up.

Hermione tucked the vial back in her robes and turned back on the ward to check if anyone had noticed her capture; a moment later, she realized she needn't have worried, for everyone's attention was on the explosion of voices out in the hall.

A tight-lipped Madam Pomfrey hurried from her office, and Hermione heard her muttering as she swept past. "What on earth -?"

The hospital wing doors banged open. Professor McGonagall, red-faced, gesticulating furiously, marched into the hospital wing. All her focus was intent on the shaggy man at her side.

"– don't know what you were _thinking_! He was their spy, he could have told us how he managed it -!"

"Sirius?" said Ron incredulously. "What're you -?"

"What's going on?" Percy overrode him, staring toward the doors. Behind Professor McGonagall and Sirius Black, an unusually sombre Professor Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room.

"There was a spy at Hogwarts," Kingsley intoned. "Barty Crouch Junior was posed as Alastor Moody. He appears to be the one responsible for...what Mr Potter went through tonight."

Mrs Weasley's hands flew to her mouth. Before any of them could respond, Professor McGonagall interceded heatedly.

"And we would know more if Sirius hadn't – hadn't –"

Hermione looked around at Sirius, wide-eyed; her stomach had clenched uncomfortably, and the way Sirius's lips drew into a grim frown confirmed her suspicions.

"He struggled," Sirius explained himself tiredly, a hint of irritation tingeing his voice. "He was armed. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill me himself if I hadn't acted."

"You could have disarmed him!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "There was no need to kill him, he was a valuable source of information regarding – regarding _tonight_!"

"The Aurors caught several Death Eaters tonight," Sirius answered, with a respectful nod toward Kingsley. "They'll question them, I'm sure."

"I am afraid what is done is done," Professor Dumbledore interceded quietly. "Rash as Sirius may have been, if he had not tracked down Crouch when he did, he most certainly would have endangered the lives of many students."

He paused and looked around the room. The gathered witches and wizards appeared to be frozen in time, watching McGonagall and Sirius's debacle. Now Dumbledore's calm words broke the spell.

"Poppy, I will ask you to go downstairs with Minerva. You will find the real Alastor Moody in the trunk in his office, in much need of your attention."

"Yes, of course," Madam Pomfrey said, hastening out of the room. Professor McGonagall offered a stiff nod and followed.

Then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "There is much work to be done. We are all aware of what tonight means... Voldemort, I am afraid, is among us again. In very short order, I fear he will have summoned his old forces. Arthur, Molly – I trust I can count on you and your family?"

"Of course," Mrs Weasley said tersely; her husband nodded. The Weasley children save George followed Dumbledore's eyes to their parents, and though Hermione saw the curiosity in Ron and Ginny's shared glances, no one interrupted.

"Kingsley," Dumbledore turned to the Auror, "I know we have friends in your department. There will be more who can stand silent no longer after tonight, I believe."

Kingsley nodded.

"Sirius." Dumbledore now looked at the Marauder. "I want you to gather the old crowd. We must meet, as soon as possible. The Ministry soon will begin to twist the truth. Please do forgive me for saying so," he added to Kingsley with a polite nod. "But my faith in our current, ah, leader has been waning for some time now. I must say, he did not look pleased tonight."

"His time grows short," predicted Kingsley with his usual solemnity.

"You can count on me," Sirius said, with a wink in Hermione's direction. "I'll have the Order on alert in no time."

At that moment, Fred jumped in. "The Order?" he echoed Sirius. "What're you on about? What's the Order?"

"Never you mind," said Mrs Weasley a little too quickly. "This is no matter to be discussing in front of them, Albus –"

"They have a right to know that Voldemort's return will not go unchallenged." The twinkle had returned to Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "In any case, that is all for now: we will meet later to discuss and speculate in greater detail. Now, I believe, we should let these two rest." He offered a nod toward Harry, still sleeping with Ginny hovering at his side, and smiled at George, who was half-slumped on Fred's shoulder.

The Headmaster bid them goodnight and swept from the room, shortly trailed by Kingsley, Sirius, Mr Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. After a moment's hesitation, Percy hurried after them.

Mrs Weasley stood up. "Very well, then, it's getting late. All of you should get back to your dormitories – yes, that would be best for now." She ignored the younger children's protests and Fred's mulish expression, bustling over to George's bedside.

"Come on, now," she clucked her tongue, "it's been a long day for all of us. Get some rest. No need to worry until morning." At this, her voice softened and she brushed the hair off George's forehead, pushing the goblet of sleeping potion into his grasp.

Fred remained stiffly at George's side. "I'm not leaving."

Mrs Weasley shook her head, but it was George who quietly dissuaded him. For a moment, he grasped his twin's hand; then Fred nodded grudgingly and eased off the edge of the bed.

Fred hovered while George drank the potion and Mrs Weasley smoothed the covers around him. In moments, the potion took its effect; George slipped down against the pillows and drifted into what Hermione hoped would be his first peaceful sleep in months.

Meanwhile, Mrs Weasley was already herding her youngest and Hermione toward the door.

"I'm sure you'll be allowed back first thing tomorrow morning," she said briskly.

Mrs Weasley saw fit to follow them all the way to the portrait of the fat lady, as though they might double back the moment her back was turned. Her watchful eye lingered until Ron mumbled the password and they had trooped through the passage. Then the door snapped shut on her worry-lined face, and Hermione turned her attention on the Gryffindor common room.

No one, it seemed, had gone to bed in the hours since the third task had ended. The room buzzed with terror and rumours, and Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender all leaped up and accosted Ron with questions.

"Is it true, Harry's seen You-Know-Who?"

"He's back?" squeaked Lavender, very white in the face.

Already Lee Jordan and the Gryffindor Chasers were wading through the crowd toward them. Hermione sighted Dennis Creevey standing up on the arm of a couch for a better look at the group of them.

_They're waiting for Harry. They're all worried about him,_ Hermione thought, before a hand closed on hers and drove all thought of the anxious Gryffindors from her mind.

Fred dragged her away from the confusion and queries. When they stood in the shadows of the boys' stairwell she turned and peered up into his expression. The fresh pain he couldn't quite hide from his gaze, she had expected; but the determined clench to his jaw gave her pause.

"'Mione," he said in a rush, "I need your help."

She opened her mouth, but words died on her lips when Fred opened his fist and showed her the bit of crumpled gold foil that George had given him in the moments before Mrs Weasley forced them away.

* * *

><p>Thousands of miles from Hogwarts, deep in the clutches of twisted wood, a hooded man panted and puffed down an invisible trail. The moon had cloaked itself in dark clouds, but he needed no light; his master had forbade him light in this forest filled with wild, prying eyes.<p>

The man heard a wolf howl and shivered. He was getting close.

The ramshackle house appeared out of a tangle of bowed yews. The man halted, clutching his side, and stared at the shack: its empty sockets stared back, deep and black. The house was so old that its timbers had sagged and twisted upon one another; in parts the roof had caved and left empty gaps gazing at the starless sky.

On the door, a twisted hunk of black metal had once been a serpent. The hooded man did not dare touch it, but passed his hand over the ornament. Locks clicked; the door hissed and expelled a cloud of dust, and the snake's head cocked to the side as it creaked open.

The man hunched his shoulders and shuffled inside.

His wheezing pierced the murky silence as he made his path by memory. Stubs of candles lined a table in the middle of the room and he withdrew his wand with some fumbling, and he hissed a curse before lighting the candles.

The glow eased him somewhat. His nose curled at the wetness of mildew and ages of must and the stink of something rotten in the corner; but he did not question his master's wishes, and so he shuffled to the hearth and stooped to prod, grumbling, at the damp logs.

Then the bark hissed and sparked and light flared across his watery vision. Something that might have once been a smile edged toward his lips as he rose – but then his eye caught the shadow detaching from the wall behind him.

The hooded man's body went rigid; his nose twitched and the stink washed over him anew. He cursed. Even stinking like the mangy mutt he was, he should have recognized that man before he stepped forward and let the firelight dance along the sharp edges of his sunken face. A grim smile twisted the interloper's lips.

"I've been waiting for you, Wormtail."

"P-Padfoot." The hooded man skittered away from the fire. He still had his wand in his gloved hand and he held it awkwardly aloft as Sirius Black advanced. The man he had once called a friend had not aged well, Peter Pettigrew thought. He leered down at him like a skeleton.

Peter smiled even as his voice trembled. "Wh-what a surprise this is. You're late, Padfoot: a few hours ago my master would have given you a much warmer welcome."

"Then send your master my deepest regrets." Sirius's voice rumbled low like a canine's growl as he circled. His steady steps lifted patches of dust at his feet. "And regret I do. I would have loved to give the Dark Lord the _welcome_ he deserves."

"You would have been wise to join him with me," said Peter, lifting his head, a little more arrogant now.

Sirius barked a laugh. His voice echoed back across the dilapidated shack, and Peter flinched despite himself. "Ah, Wormtail, you know I was never wise. That, I don't quite regret. ...Now what about this cozy place? I suppose none of the other Death Eaters know you're hiding your ugly mug up here."

Something flickered in Peter's eyes. Sirius turned back to face him with a wry grin. The look was colder than the one he had worn as a teen. "Let me guess. Your master sent you here, didn't he? He needed someone to guard it, and you were the only one who came to him."

Peter's nose twitched again. "I – I don't know what you're talking about. My master gave me –"

"Don't waste the effort. I know about the ring." Sirius lazily brandished his wand and Peter took an involuntary step back. His eyes went to the mantle; Sirius's grin broadened.

"Don't bother looking, either. It's gone now."

A trickle of sweat beaded on Peter's brow; he whimpered. "_Sirius_..."

"Ah, yes, the precious gift your master gave you. I wonder what he'll do when he knows it's gone. I suppose you won't look like his faithful servant then. This is mercy, really, undeserved mercy –"

Peter lifted his wand at the same time as Sirius; his wide eyes shone in the gloom. For a moment they hung, breathing heavily, holding each other at wand-point. Then Sirius barked a laugh.

"This brings back memories, doesn't it? It's been thirteen years, Wormtail, and you know I'm not a patient man."

Peter hesitated, and in that moment Sirius lunged: he pinned the smaller man against the wall and Peter felt the wand-tip jab against his wide throat. He swallowed and his eyes flitted toward the door.

"You'll pay," Sirius growled. "You'll pay for James, and for Lily, and for all the lives you've made hell since then. _By God, you'll pay, Pettigrew_!"

Peter's face had purpled. Sirius had trapped his wand, but he had one last resort Sirius didn't know about. He slipped his right hand free of its glove; a flash of silver in the firelight was Sirius's only warning before Peter's gilded fist closed around his throat.

"_You_ made a mistake, Padfoot," he relished, wheezing. Sirius was the one gasping now, his wand lowering as he scrabbled to unclench the silver fingers' grip. In a dark surge of feeling Peter tightened his grasp. "_This_...is my master's gift. You should have seen him, Padfoot: trembled in his presence. My master is powerful. More powerful than any of you, even Dumbledore, could hope to be."

Sirius didn't have the breath to answer him. A cold sneer curled Pettigrew's lips as he watched the taller man thrash and heave in his grasp. Once, he would have cowered at the mere mention of Sirius Black, a desperate man, a man with nothing to lose and vengeance to gain. Now, he allowed himself to chortle.

"What have you become, Sirius? You were once the strongest of us: you, and James. And now you meet the same sad end."

It was as though he had snapped the last straw. One instant, Sirius was wheezing and weakening against his closing fist; the next, Sirius had plunged one hand within his robes. Not for his wand, no, Peter had seen him drop his wand. Instead his fist clamped over Peter's left hand and held something, a smooth stone, trapped between their joined palms.

At first Peter was too startled to react; but this had to be some trick, Sirius was never without his tricks, so he yanked away and cursed. Sirius held their fists firmly together. The stone pressed into his skin was like ice.

And then, so suddenly that he yelped, a silvery light flared across the shack. There were shapes – Peter's eyes flitted left and right – shapes forming out of the light, so bright that he had to shut his eyes.

"What I've become?" rasped Sirius. Peter's hold had slackened on him, but only slightly; Sirius's other hand gripped tight to the fingers at his throat. "Look at what you've become. _Look_!"

He roared again with fierceness he shouldn't still have, and Peter flinchingly obeyed. He opened his eyes just a crack, poised to shut them again, to finish Sirius and be over with this –

But the colour drained from his face, and even his silver hand faltered.

"J-James," he whispered. "L-Lily..."

They stood over him. Silver and wraithlike, the figments stood as if they had not aged a day in the long thirteen years since he had last laid eyes on them. James, tall, proud, bold as only a youth can be; and Lily beside him, lovely and gentle, as she had always been to the smallest of the Marauders.

The ghosts' lips moved. Peter did not hear them. He only had focus for their eyes. Their eyes terrified him.

His old friends' eyes were filled with pity.

He thrashed and begged Sirius to stop the illusion; he stumbled backward and clapped his hands to his ears and howled, curled on the floor.

"I had to do it! You – you would have done the same!" he cried to James, who advanced with an arm outstretched, utter pity in eyes that had once gleamed. "You don't understand! He would have killed me... H-he would have k-killed me..."

The ghosts were gone. Only Sirius stood over him now. The grim man massaged his raw neck with one hand while the other held a wand steadied at Peter's chest. He tried to worm away and felt as though his body had turned to lead. Sirius had him under an immobility spell.

"W-will you kill me now?" Peter forced his numb lips to move. "W-would you kill your old friend, too? Then you'd be no better than me, Sirius."

Sirius grimaced and aimed a hard kick at his ribs. Peter would have recoiled, if he could: his chest seared and he coughed. Wet blood dripped from his lips. By the way his quickening breathing hurt, Sirius had broken at least two of his ribs.

"It would be too kind for me to kill you," Sirius spat at him. He wavered above the cowering rat, fighting to breathe; the marks of Peter's fingers burned red against his flesh. "No, rat. We'll let _them_ judge. They've dealt with worse than you."

The fear and the pain and the weight of Sirius's spell had Peter hard-fought to breathe. He wheezed desperately and his dewy eyes watered.

"Sirius..._please_, Sirius..."

Sirius's eyes flashed. "Don't speak to me like we're still friends, rat." He turned on the house and bellowed: "Dobby! Kreacher!"

Two soft pops accompanied the arrival of the house-elves at Sirius's side. The one on the left leered at him, caressing an amulet at his throat. Sparks flickered in front of Peter's eyes.

"Here's the rat. You know what to do."

The elves gripped Peter with their long, bony fingers. Peter's eyes found Sirius a last time and he opened his mouth, a hateful scream on his lips; but then there was a sharp crack, and his world faded to black.

Alone in the Gaunt shack, Sirius wearily crouched and picked up the Death Stone. He turned it over slowly in his hands: once, twice, three times.

"I'm sorry," he croaked when the silver light filled the room again, "to use you like that, Prongs... To make you watch that..."

James Potter set the shadow of his hand on his shoulder; looking up into his old friend's face, Sirius saw acceptance and faith in James's steady nod. A lump rose in Sirius's raw throat.

"Thank you," echoed the voice he had not heard in thirteen years.

Then the light, and his two friends, were gone.

* * *

><p>"You know, we're probably breaking a dozen school rules right now," Hermione panted.<p>

She stumbled after Fred across the blackened grounds and heard him chuckle up ahead; his hand tightened on hers.

"Oh, it's far more than a dozen, I can assure you. We manage _that_ on an off day."

Hermione only huffed.

The moon had slipped behind a shroud of clouds overhead. She could barely make out the flare of his hair in front of her as they walked. A heavy silence hung in the air, punctured by the haggard rasp of their breathing. Nevertheless, Fred maintained a steady pace in front of her, angling away from the blazing castle windows.

Soon they had made it through the gates, under the beseeching stares of its winged boar guardians. Then they stood, breathless in their daring, and Hermione chanced a glance backward. Up on a hillside as smooth and black as glass, the castle's windows glimmered like a thousand candles.

Fred pulled her back to the present. "Ready, Granger?"

She turned back and eyed him nervously. Fred laughed. "I'm much better at this now. I promise."

"Solemnly swear?" she challenged.

Fred raised an appraising eyebrow, but did not falter. "I solemnly swear I will not splinch us both, on my honour as a short Weasley."

Hermione conceded and let him pull her close, his hand warm and steady on hers. He counted off for her benefit, and she shut her eyes; then, with a quick turn on his heel, the duo vanished.

The pop of their reappearance faded smoothly into the sounds of Muggle London. When Hermione reopened her eyes, she was looking down a narrow street of darkened shop fronts. Here and there glimmered a street lamp in the gloom; at the end of the street, Hermione glimpsed the flare of a car's lights before it rumbled past.

Fred consulted the bit of gold foil in his fist and squinted up at the sign on the corner. "Getting closer. C'mon."

She saw Fred had his wand in hand. Out of caution she drew hers as well, though she prayed she wouldn't have to use it off school property as she crept after him through the shadows.

Hermione saw him first. A rustle of motion passed through a circle of light up ahead and she seized Fred's wrist. The shiftiness of the man's movements drew her suspicions at once. She could almost sense his fear from here.

Fred, meanwhile, growled faintly and redoubled his strides. Hermione found herself panting to keep up with him as they swung around the corner onto the main road, glimpsed the flare of a vibrant cloak before the man had gone down the steps to the Underground.

Now they slowed and followed down the stairs more cautiously. The burst of light in the underground tunnel made Hermione squint. The man had gone, but Fred started down the twisting corridor without hesitation. Hermione's heartbeat mirrored her quick footsteps and she was just wondering, frantically, what they would do if a Muggle stumbled upon them now when a cold draft ruffled her hair.

They had stepped out onto the underground platform, crossed by empty train tracks. It was too quiet: Hermione's skin tingled.

"_Stupefy_!"

Hermione yanked Fred behind the shelter of a pillar as a flash of red light shot over their shoulders. But the spell had illuminated the ashen face of their quarry, and Fred stepped back into view.

"Not much of a welcome, is it?" he voiced wryly. His voice echoed too loudly on the deserted platform.

Ludo Bagman attempted a weak laugh and lowered his wand. "Ah...it's you, Weasley. I was expecting someone...someone else."

"Were you really?" Fred said lightly, not at all lowering his wand. "Funny we should run into you here, then. Last I checked, you still owe us our money."

"Do I?" Bagman said. He studied Fred carefully in the gloom. "As I remember it, your brother, not you, made a deal with me. Ah... I heard about his injuries. A pity, that..."

Fred took another step forward. "Don't talk about George." Something had shifted in his voice, and Hermione had no pity for Bagman when he took a step back. "Give us our money, Bagman."

"Now, now, Mr Weasley, no need to get testy," Bagman said with a little chuckle. Hermione was not fooled.

"Fred -!" she cried in warning, just as Bagman raised his wand; Fred was faster.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Bagman's wand flew out of his grasp and clattered against the tracks below them. He swore loudly and lunged at Fred instead. In an instant, the fierce Beater resurfaced from amid the years Ludo Bagman had let himself go. Fred didn't stand a chance when the larger man bore down on him, seized his wand arm, and yanked it back.

Hermione heard the sharp crack of bone; her boyfriend yelled, and his wand rolled uselessly across the floor.

"_Fred_!"

She whipped out her wand and held it, trembling, on Bagman's broad shoulders. A thousand retributions echoed in her mind, but she silenced them with the knowledge that a single spell on her part meant the underage wards would bring the Ministry down on them. This was so stupid, she thought furiously, stupid and ridiculous, and why had she listened to Fred in the first place?

The answer came to her at once: George. Because George knew his brother better than even her. George knew Fred was at once worried and furious, and George knew that if Fred didn't vent himself somehow now, he might explode.

So Hermione lifted her chin and stared Bagman down.

He spared only a glance for her. Somehow, he knew that she couldn't touch him. He hefted Fred's arm a little higher above his head – Fred hissed through his teeth – and spoke.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Seventeen," Fred snarled.

"Still far too young for this game," said Bagman, and his laugh came back, a little stronger now. "A few words of wisdom, Mr Weasley: it would do well not to meddle in places you don't belong. There are many things you are too young to understand about this world."

"Let him go!" Hermione warned. She could see Fred's face glowing like parchment in the low lighting, and behind his head Bagman had twisted his wrist at a grotesque angle. "You're hurting him, let him go!"

Bagman glanced sideways at her. "And if you are still unwise enough to meddle, you would do better not to bring your...friends down with you. Do you understand, Mr Weasley?"

What happened next, not even Hermione expected. While Bagman spoke, his eyes still on her, Fred reacted: he clenched his fist and jabbed his left elbow back into Bagman's gut, hard.

The old Beater wheezed out a breath and stooped and loosened his grip on Fred's arm. It was what he had needed. Fred wrenched himself free, whirled behind Bagman while he was catching his breath, and hooked his left arm around Bagman's neck.

Bagman scrabbled upward. He knew what Fred was trying to pull, but he was too slow. Fred clasped his right hand over his left, hissed at the pain it cost him, and wrenched his elbow taut to Bagman's windpipe.

It was over in a bare ten seconds. Bagman's face purpled; his eyes bugged; and then he was slumping forward and Fred was letting him fall to the floor in disgust.

For a moment, the only sound was the heavy rasp of Fred's breathing. His right arm hung away from his body; with his left, he swiped at his jaw.

"'Mione?"

"Yes, Fred?" she said quietly.

"Thanks for that book." He offered her a weak, wolfish grin.

They rolled Bagman onto his back. Fred would have surely kicked him into position, but Hermione had found him his wand again and he only kept it steadied on the unconscious man, left-handed, while he had her search his pockets. Hermione fumbled in the folds of his robes, trying to touch him as little as possible and feeling, somehow, that this was one of the most wrong things she had done in her years as a rule-breaker.

At last, she withdrew a too-light sack of gold. She proffered it, but Fred did not move to take the money.

"Figures," he muttered.

Hermione knew it was less than half of what he owed the twins.

Fred stared stormily at the too-small satchel, then at Bagman, then at his broken wrist, as if weighing the worth of each. At long last, he heaved a sigh.

"Let's...let's go, 'Mione." Suddenly, his voice was tired.

Hermione nodded a little too quickly. Fred snatched the money from her and stuffed it, unceremoniously, back in Bagman's robes; he jerked to his feet and held out his hand.

"Are you just going to – leave him there?" Her small voice echoed over the platform.

Fred stopped short and looked at her for a long moment in the dusky light. Nervousness clutched at her throat in the silence; on the ground, Bagman stared to stir.

"Hermione," Fred said quietly, "he's no Winky. He's not a cause for you to redeem –"

Suddenly, her temper flared at him. "He's not a Death Eater, either! You can't just leave him there, defenceless –"

"Then what d'you want me to do?"

Hermione caught herself and turned away. She drew a deep breath and clenched her damp fists. "The Ministry," she decided. "The Wizengamot will see justice done, whatever it has to be."

Still, Fred looked at her. His wrist was hurting him; he held it limp away from his body, and a familiar muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. Behind him, Bagman had started to mutter low oaths.

"...Fine. Fine, the Ministry can have him." Fred grit his teeth and lifted his wand, shooting off the winking purple sparks that would have hit-wizards on the scene in minutes.

As she watched Fred, it was George's smirk that suddenly appeared in her mind. _Quibbling like an old married couple again, are you?_ She didn't remember where the memory had come from; maybe she had only imagined it. It was something he would say, after all, she thought with a huff.

Nevertheless, she smiled her sincere thanks to Fred when he reached for her hand. He nodded gruffly, turned away, and raised his wand.

"...Three," she heard Fred say, and with a crack, the pair Disapparated.

_To be continued..._

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

I hope this chapter cleared up some of the finer points of Hermione and George's plot. :)

I really enjoyed writing Sirius's revenge bit. Probably too much, but oh well. He's been wanting to do that for a long time.

Also, Bagman just might have hit upon Fred's Berserk Button there. Just saying.

And now, drumroll please...

**Results of the Unofficial Cover Contest:**

Many congratulations and thanks to KCRedPanda98, who made a lovely sketch of George and Hermione in full battle mode! :D

And, as always, please review!


	26. The Beginning

**For Want of an Ear**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25 – The Beginning<strong>

George and Harry were released from the hospital wing three days after Lord Voldemort's return to power. By then, rumours about the third task's denouement had already spread like wildfire through the corridors. Madam Pomfrey had to recruit a Prefect to guard the door of the hospital wing and dissuade the continual stream of well-wishers and curious onlookers; Colin and Dennis Creevey, in their earnest, were turned away as many as five times per day, carrying armloads of Honeydukes sweets.

As such, Fred hadn't seen his brother since the night of the task when at breakfast Dumbledore issued the announcement. The Headmaster waited for the Gryffindors' long sighs of relief and shaken smiles to subside before commanding, "As eager as you all may be to welcome your classmates back, I must ask that you leave them alone. Above all – and I know this may be difficult for some of you – none of you are to ask Mr Potter about what might have happened, what he might have witnessed the night of the task. Now, please: do not allow me to keep you from your breakfasts."

Dumbledore sat back down at the head table. A few of the Gryffindors applauded their appreciation of the announcement; in its midst, more whispers broke out.

Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum had returned to their schoolmates earlier after a thorough check-up with Madam Pomfrey; neither had been seen alone since. Fleur conspired constantly with the Beauxbatons girls; Viktor seemed to enjoy the spike in his fame less, and often appeared to be brooding.

In the meantime, Ron, Hermione, and Fred had taken it upon themselves to divert the worst of the rumours. No, You-Know-Who was not hiding in Hogwarts; no, he couldn't show up in the Great Hall tomorrow demanding they hand over Harry Potter: there were security precautions on the castle – hadn't _anyone_ read Hogwarts: A History?

That morning, while the Great Hall was still echoing with the breakfasters' whispers, the three rose together and, on a silent signal, took their leave. They made it up the stairs to the hospital wing before most diners were thinking of leaving.

The oak door slammed and Madam Pomfrey glanced up accusingly. Eleanor Fawcett, a pretty Ravenclaw Prefect with curly auburn hair, started toward them.

"He's my brother!" Fred snapped when she made to usher them out.

Eleanor ceded. "All right, but, quietly –" she tried.

"Thank you," said Hermione pointedly, since the two boys were already making a beeline for George and Harry's beds.

When she rejoined them, Harry glanced up and offered a thin smile. It was enough: Hermione flung herself at him in a tight hug. After a moment Harry recovered from his surprise and returned the gesture. When she pulled back, she studied him carefully: Harry was perhaps a little paler, the bags under his eyes a little deeper than the last time she had seen him, but he was still smiling wanly.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione ventured. She stepped aside so Ron could grasp Harry's hand. After a moment of sheepish hesitation, he gruffly hugged Harry, too.

"Better, now," Harry deemed, patting Ron on the shoulder. As he released him, Ron shot a quick glance sideways, his ears red, but the twins did not seem to have noticed his sentimentality. Indeed, Fred's eyes hadn't left George's face: he grasped his brother's shoulders and stared at him. Neither seemed to know what to say.

Then Hermione glimpsed the look in Fred's eyes. She'd never seen Fred look quite so serious: his face had tightened and fear and relief struggled for prominence in his widened eyes. Somehow, it petrified her.

But George only reached up, taking Fred's head in his hands so that their foreheads touched together. "I'm all right," he said, "solemnly swear." Then he smiled and broke the spell.

Fred jolted back to the present. He pulled back and shot a suspicious look at the fourth years that was a little too reminiscent of Ron's reaction.

Hermione turned away and pretended not to have seen them, and Ron, turning to Harry, announced suddenly and a bit more loudly than necessary, "So, you hungry? Can't imagine you've had much up here."

And so, despite three of them having already breakfasted, they descended to the kitchens together. In the absence of the whispers and stares, the Gryffindors relaxed. They offered a few updates on what George and Harry had missed, and they all laughed when a beaming Dobby brought out a red-and-gold frosted chocolate cake he had baked especially to celebrate Harry's recovery.

Halfway through the cake, George turned on his twin: "What the hell happened to your arm, Fred?" Since the morning following the third task, Fred had been sporting a light splint on his right wrist.

Fred rubbed at the back of his neck with his left hand and grinned, reiterating his story. "Fell down the stairs."

George, of course, didn't believe him for a second, but they all laughed anyway, and Hermione was careful to avoid George's eye for a while afterward.

None of them, though, brought up the darkness lingering at the back of all of their minds. They merely grinned and laughed at one another as if to say, _Well, we're alive, aren't we?_

Eventually, and a lot fuller than they had arrived, the five Gryffindors trooped back upstairs to join the rest of the school for the presentation of the Triwizard Tournament winnings. No face in the Hall – Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or Hogwarts – was anything less than subdued. The applause that heralded Harry's acceptance of his prize money from Cornelius Fudge was hollow; the Minister of Magic himself seemed to wish he was anywhere else.

No one was in the mood to celebrate with the thought of Voldemort hanging over their heads like a black storm cloud. Instead, at their dismissal, the students rose as one and moved in a whispering current for the open doors.

Harry returned to the Gryffindor table, staring dejectedly at his sack of gold. Fred and George rose to clap him on the shoulders. "Hey, Harry," George said quietly, "everything aside, it was still great competing with you. That there's for earning a Hogwarts victory, no more, no less, and we can be proud of that at least. Yeah?"

Harry looked up into his weak smile and held out his hand. "To be honest, I was bloody terrified, going up against you, and Viktor, and Fleur. You all had the experience. I didn't have a clue what I was doing half the time. But, having seen firsthand what you've gotten through," Harry allowed a grin, "promise me that next time, you'll be on my side."

George chuckled and grasped Harry's hand. "Anytime you need it, Potter," he swore.

"And don't forget me," objected Fred, grabbing Harry's other hand and shaking it briskly. "You don't think I'm gonna let George keep stealing all the glory – ah, sorry –" The bag of Galleons had slipped from the crook of Harry's arm and clattered against the stone floor. Fred snatched it up again and tossed it back to Harry with a grin. "You might wanna hang onto that."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. An odd look had come upon his face and he opened his mouth just as a voice spoke up behind them.

"Ah, there you are, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said amiably. The Great Hall had emptied around them and he stood next to the Gryffindor table, eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked from Harry to the twins, Ron, and Hermione as he said, "Forgive me for the interruption. If I might have a few minutes of your time in my office, Harry, there are questions of a serious nature that must be addressed before too much time passes."

"Er...all right, then." By the way Harry's smile vanished, he knew Dumbledore wanted details about the night of the third task. He glanced apologetically at the others. "Well – I'll see you in the common room?"

The Weasleys and Hermione nodded. Harry followed Dumbledore's sweeping footsteps out of the Hall, and in their wake the remaining foursome joined the straggling crowd headed back to the dormitories.

Hermione noticed Fred starting to lag when they neared the moving staircases. She lingered, letting Ron and George get a half floor ahead of them before Fred reached her side. Without a word, he reached for her hand. Hermione smiled and didn't protest.

* * *

><p>The afternoon slipped away in quiet hours in a corner of the common room. Every now and then, Ron craned his neck toward the portrait hole, only to be disappointed when another student shuffled through. Harry had been missing for a few hours now, Hermione thought as Ron's brow furrowed after another fruitless check and he leaned with forced concentration over his chess board. For the first time since anyone could remember, Ron was losing his match: though if George, his opponent, knew it, he seemed to be more interested in the bandages on his left arm.<p>

Hermione took her moment of distraction to stretch. She had a thick Defence tome in her lap: as soon as their exams had finished, she had hunted the library for Defence Against the Dark Arts books, the fruits of her labour now lining the table in front of her. She had assured Harry and Ron it was research to further their nightly gatherings – "Because we'll be needing those now," she had reminded them, and the storm cloud settled over their brows.

Hermione looked around. Beside her on the couch, Fred was flipping through another one of the Defence books, but he was not so studious: his leg twitched now and then, impatiently, against hers. Across from them, Ron and George waged their one-sided chess match; Ginny curled in an armchair next to Ron, absently stroking Crookshanks on her lap.

Shortly past four o'clock, the portrait hole swung open again. This time, all five unconsciously glanced toward the newcomer. Hermione felt Fred's leg tense, but it was not their friend who stepped into the common room; it was Professor McGonagall. Their Head of House held a stack of envelopes.

"Oh – that'll be our final marks," said Ginny, gingerly dislodging Crookshanks. Since no one else had moved, she headed over to collect their letters.

Hermione exhaled a long breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding. Glancing up, she noted George had also stiffened and had to be reminded by Ron that it was still his turn.

Ginny returned from the growing crowd around Professor McGonagall and passed out their envelopes dutifully. The last one, labelled 'Harry Potter', she let fall on the table by Hermione's books.

"Hermione, she said this is yours, too."

Hermione glanced up when Ginny handed her a second envelope. Turning it over, she glimpsed the official purple seal of the Ministry of Magic, and her heart leaped. Fred cast aside his half-open letter to peer over her shoulder.

"What's that?"

Hermione did not answer him immediately. She slit the envelope, unfolded the short letter, and read it; a small smile reached her lips. "Oh, this? It's nothing... In May I appealed to have my Underage Wards removed. This will allow me to use magic outside of school, unsupervised."

"Suppose I can't get one, too?" said Ron, eyeing the letter.

Hermione grinned: it was a surprisingly foxy look. "Well, do you have a clean track record, a letter of recommendation from a professor, and top marks?"

She went on brusquely, "Anyway, I'm technically not encouraged to use magic – they just consider me responsible enough not to go around breaking the Statue of Secrecy."

She giggled at Ron's disgruntled expression and accepted Ginny's congratulations. Fred advised her not-so-jokingly to start raising a little hell, and she did not dignify that with acknowledgement. Instead she looked over at George; he winked.

_Well,_ Hermione thought, _a "little hell" is the least of what we'll be doing, if everything works out._

She was distracted from the sobering thought by a strangled noise from Fred. Looking over, she gauged that he had finally opened his letter; he was staring, mouthing wordlessly, at the print.

"What now?" Ron lifted an eyebrow.

"Bloody hell...I got an O, in Defence."

"Oh." George looked at his own letter in mild interest. "Me, too."

"Same here," said Ron.

"And me," said Ginny.

Hermione only beamed while the Weasleys exchanged high-fives. It seemed their nightly gatherings had been a success so far. She would have to see if Neville and the others had fared as well.

Meanwhile, the twins had swapped letters. Fred glanced over George's marks and swore again.

"Bloody hell, George, whenever did you find the time to study this stuff?"

"I didn't," George said blankly.

Now curious, Hermione looked over Fred's shoulder and read off a line of 'Exceeds Expectations' in Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Transfiguration, and – by some miracle – Potions, followed by 'Outstanding' in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms. She hid a smile.

"It's all natural talent, I swear."

"Yeah, well, you watch your newfound 'talent' or you'll wind up with a shiny badge, you will," Fred warned, chucking the letter back at him.

George smirked. "The world wouldn't consider, Fred."

"Oi –" interrupted Ron. He half-rose from his seat. Hermione turned and her heart leaped; a familiar figure with a mop of black hair approached their cluster.

Harry sank down on the couch next to Fred and offered a wan smile. "What're we all talking about?"

"Oh – end-of-term marks showed up." Fred pointed helpfully at the remaining letter. "And Georgie here's growing a big head. I warned him not to write to Perce, I did –"

"And Freddie's being a drama queen, as usual," George cut him off. "So? What did Dumbledore want?"

"He wanted to know what happened." Harry picked up his letter and plied it absent-mindedly in his lap. He reiterated what he had told the Headmaster in a dulled whisper; the Gryffindor five listened in silence. Hermione listened with one ear while she watched the others' expressions. George didn't look at anyone, of course, and fussed with the loose bandages on his arm. Fred stared at his twin; his leg had stilled against hers. Ron paled and made the disgusted and sympathetic faces for all of them. Ginny remained quiet, transfixed on Harry, and it struck Hermione suddenly that she, too, had faced Voldemort before and understood what he was going through.

When Harry concluded with the Aurors' sudden arrival, Hermione took it up to inform him and George about events in the ward. When she had finished telling them about the Order's gathering, the conversation tapered off at last.

"They're the ones who fought him last time. They'll know what to do," Ginny concluded with determination that none of them really felt.

Restlessly Fred stood and paced to the window. The afternoon sun blazed high in the clear sky; Hermione blinked owlishly and wondered if brewing storm clouds might have been more appropriate.

Fred braced his hands on the sill and gazed out across the green grounds. "So this is it. This really means war, then."

He received no answer; he did not expect one.

"You know, last time... You lot won't remember, you were too young, but I remember the fear. Mum and Dad couldn't hide that from us. We'd hear them talking in the middle of the night. George, you remember, we'd sneak out to the landing and listen. We didn't understand what it all meant at the time. I think... I think I get it now."

Hermione didn't know what to say. George rose and followed Fred to the window. He turned back, his elbows propped against the sill, and grinned weakly back at them. "You know, Potter, we meant what we said earlier. We're not letting you take him on alone."

"Yeah," Ron interceded, clapping a hand to Harry's shoulder. "We're all with you, mate."

"And me, too," said Ginny, a fierce light shining in her eyes.

Hermione smiled. "You can count on all of us, Harry."

Harry could not answer to their display of loyalty immediately. He gazed down into his lap and clenched his fists around the letter. After a moment, Hermione realized his hands were shaking.

"All of you..." Harry managed at last. "...I can't ask you to put your lives on the line for me –"

"This is our war, too, Harry," George said steadily.

"– and I can't force you to back down, either –"

"We _won't_ back down," said Ginny.

"Because we're your friends, Harry," Hermione said with a smile.

"– and I know that," Harry concluded flatly. He exhaled in defeat and lifted his head, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "Fred, George...Hermione...Ron...Ginny...I need you. I need _all_ of you, and Neville, and Seamus, and Dean, and Luna, and all the rest."

"We'll be there," said Ron.

A wry smile tugged at Harry's lips and he looked downward again at his rumpled letter. He seemed to be struggling with one last admittance. Hermione waited, and they were rewarded.

"...Thank you. All of you."

Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes as she looked at the one who would be known as The Boy Who Lived To Twice Defy Him, and she was the one to reach out for him then and clasp his hands. "Oh, Harry... We would have done it, even if you hadn't asked."

* * *

><p>The eve of their departure from Hogwarts heralded the plentiful Leaving Feast. Stepping into the Great Hall that night nearly gave George a heart attack: the long banners hung from the ceiling bore Hufflepuff's gold and black badger. Then, belatedly, he remembered.<p>

"What, missing the old colours, are you?"

George turned his head and stared numbly at a beaming Cedric Diggory. His heart was still hammering his ribs to burst.

Cedric set his hands on his hips. "It's not a bad look at all. Better than looking at green all year, anyway, don't you think?"

"Guess so," George deemed weakly, and was pleased that his voice sounded somewhat natural. Cedric grinned to let him know that he wasn't making too much fun of him and then wandered for the celebrating Hufflepuff table.

"What's a matter, Georgie? You look like you've seen a ghost." Fred emerged from the crowded doorway behind him; George suspected he had been waylaid by a certain Miss Granger again.

George resurfaced with his usual grin. "Well, Freddie, I have." And with that he steered Fred toward the distraction of food.

It wasn't until they were well through with the mounts of delectable desserts that Dumbledore saw fit to interrupt them. He rose and surveyed the Hall with solemnity; the last of the chatter died away.

"By now, most of you have heard word of what happened the night of the twenty-fourth." Dumbledore scanned their pale faces in the candlelight and dipped his head slightly. "I am here to put an end to the rumours: Lord Voldemort has indeed returned."

The murmur rippled through the crowd like a unanimous shudder. The thought of Voldemort's leering eyes drove off the last of his appetite, and George pushed away his treacle tart.

Dumbledore waited for the Hall to quiet. "Some have advised me not to tell you this; but I believe, in these times, truth should outweigh any temporary comfort that lies might provide." He raised his voice. "As of now, he is out there, gathering his forces. It is unknown when or where he will choose to reveal himself next. In the meantime, I assure you, Hogwarts has every intention of providing a safe environment for all of our students in the fall."

"The Triwizard Tournament's intent was to further and promote magical understanding. In light of what has happened, I believe those ties are more important than ever before." Dumbledore paused and looked down the Hall: at the Beauxbatons students whispering at the Ravenclaw table, at the Durmstrang members with the Slytherins, and, finally, along the head table, where Karkaroff and Bagman's seats lay empty. "Every guest in this Hall," Dumbledore proclaimed, "will be welcomed back here at any time. I say to you all: in light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united and as weak as we are divided."

Dumbledore concluded his speech without fanfare and sat once more, surveying the Hall with solemn thoughtfulness. All around them, students were beginning to rise and bid last goodbyes to out-of-house friends. Beauxbatons girls cried as they embraced Ravenclaw hosts; eagerly Ron dragged Harry off for a last glimpse of Fleur; numbers and addresses were exchanged and couples embraced in the aisles.

George wasn't hungry, but he didn't feel like braving the crowd, either, so he prodded at the tart for a while longer. Fred and Hermione sat with him.

"Dumbledore's right, you know," Hermione was saying quietly. "We'll need this togetherness – all of us. Oh..."

George glanced up. A hunched, dark-haired figure had shuffled into their midst and had touched Hermione's shoulder. "Excuse me," said Viktor Krum. "I vas only vondering..."

He cleared his throat and seemed aware of the twins watching; he pulled a crumpled bit of parchment from his pocket and lifted his head a little. "If you vould maybe vrite to me, this summer. You are very nice girl, Hermy-own-nee, and I vould be honoured if you vould."

Hermione beamed. "I'd love that, Viktor. Here." She tore a scrap of parchment from her bag and scribbled her address. Viktor, meanwhile, turned to George.

"If you vould not mind, vould you vrite, too?" the Bulgarian Seeker asked with an almost sheepish grin. "I am asking Fleur and Harry too. I am glad ve competed. You are brave man, George. Brave, and maybe little crazy."

At that, George laughed. "I'm less brave and more crazy than I look," he swore as he took the parchment and quill from Hermione. "And, if you don't mind, could I have your autograph? For my brother Ron."

They promised to keep in touch and bid goodbye to Viktor. He shook hands with George and Fred (who was busy trying to ignore him) and swiftly kissed Hermione on the cheek. Then he shuffled off to where Angelina was visible in a group of sixth years.

After he was gone, Fred burst out, "That bloody prat, he likes you!"

"Well, yes, I am generally likeable," George conceded.

Fred shoved him. "Not you. Granger."

Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh and shared a look with George. "Even if he does, I told him I already have a boyfriend."

"Did you tell him how immeasurably handsome and witty he is, and that he knows Muggle martial arts?" asked Fred.

Hermione hid her smile. "Not exactly. He's...rather convinced it's George."

Fred's fork hit his plate with a clatter. "_What_?"

George grimaced and got to his feet. "Thanks a lot, Hermione. Just when I was looking forward to the train ride."

"Start running," growled Fred.

George shot Hermione a last accusing look before he obliged, and ran for his life. It probably didn't help that he know knew the full and slightly embellished story of how Fred had knocked out Ludo Bagman with his bare hands.

Hermione shook her head and only watched with a half-exasperated, half-amused smile while Fred chased George from the Hall.

* * *

><p>A warm summer day greeted the Hogwarts Express's journey back to London. A breeze stirred the pages of the Daily Prophet as Hermione unfolded the newspaper, and upon sighting the front headline she smiled. She nudged George and he leaned over her shoulder to read,<p>

_MINISTER OF MAGIC RESIGNS_

_In light of several late rumours as to the return of the dark wizard You-Know-Who, the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has seen fit to vacate his position. Upon questioning Fudge's staff, his resignation was stated to be in regards for "his personal health", and assured not to be in correlation with current events. Fudge was unavailable for comment..._

"Well, that's certainly interesting, isn't it?" George smirked. He passed the paper around for Fred, Ron, Ginny, and Harry – who had been playing Exploding Snap – to see. "Dumbledore was right."

The news made his own hopes lift slightly: with a Minister capable of action, George thought, maybe the wizarding world would actually be prepared for Voldemort this time around. Wouldn't that be a shock to the Dark Lord?

"D'you think that Shacklebolt guy might take the post?" Ron asked hopefully. Since Harry had told them of his rescue at the Aurors' hands, Ron had had nothing but praise for the Auror division. George made a mental note to get Ron in contact with Percy's new boss; he was most certainly suited to that sort of career.

Since George had survived the third task, their plot to retrieve Hufflepuff's Cup from Gringotts was going strong. Some conferring with Sirius over the mirrors last night had led to a date in early July, a few weeks before they were due to arrive at Grimmauld Place. Then, after that, there was just that ugly snake between them and Voldemort.

It was happening all so quickly.

Sirius had one last word for him: he had been gathering the Order, as commanded, and had seen Bill and Charlie join their numbers. Not so predictably, though, was when Sirius grinned and said, "...and Percy came around about an hour afterward."

Well, George reckoned, it was beginning to look like Fred would have to live with Percy in their lives, after all. Personally, George didn't have much sympathy for him at the moment.

The Gryffindors played Exploding Snap and speculated about the Order's next move long into the afternoon. A smaller article in the Prophet, which Hermione discovered after lunch, describing Ludo Bagman's sentence in Azkaban for fraud, was wondered about only briefly. Then the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station and the crowd of waiting parents filled the window.

George had already hauled his and Hermione's trunks out into the corridor when Harry said, "Fred, George – wait a minute."

_Ah, there we go._

George was careful to stifle his smirk before he turned back. Hermione gave him a knowing look, but she hustled Ron and Ginny down the hall with a claim that she saw their mother waiting.

When the three of them were alone in the compartment, Harry dug in the corner of his trunk and removed his sack of Triwizard winnings; he forced it into George's hands. "Take it."

"What?" said Fred blankly.

"Take it, and get inventing with your joke shop," Harry repeated firmly. "You deserve it, the way you've been working this year. It should've been your name on that Cup, George. But, no, that's not it, either... I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're gonna need them more than usual before long."

"Harry –" George began. Even after all this time, he had no words to thank him; but Fred summarized his thoughts simply.

"– you're absolutely mental," he finished in awe. "Absolutely, bloody mental."

"Maybe even worse than me," George chipped in and grinned. "Harry, you know, anytime you need a favour..."

"Don't worry about it. You don't owe me anything, except for that bet you _still _haven't paid me," said Harry. "Consider it for a good run for the Cup, all right? And don't tell your mum where you got it."

"You kidding?" grinned Fred.

But George, in another odd spur of the moment, tossed the gold to Fred and instead grasped Harry by the shoulders. "We mean it, though," he said. "Prize or no prize, we're bloody serious. We're on your side, mate."

Fred nodded, weighing the gold in his hands. "Just give us a call, we'll gladly pummel your enemies and whatnot."

"But we will not play matchmaker," George warned sternly. "So mind you work up the guts and ask_ her_ out yourself, got it?"

Harry looked a little confused and more than a little dazed by their vehemence, but when the twins pressed him, he solemnly swore. Then Harry tired of their antics and shoved them from the compartment so he could lock his trunk in peace.

George stepped down into the meandering crowd and inhaled the smoggy air. _Going home, _he thought contentedly. It felt strange to think he'd be going back to the Burrow, but it was somewhat heartening, as well. There was much more freedom out of Hogwarts's halls, and he was looking forward to seeing mum and dad and Bill and Charlie, and yes, even Percy again.

Next to him, Fred had been wise enough to hide the gold and was now craning his neck, searching the crowd. George knew who he was looking for and barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Meet you on the other side?" he suggested. Fred nodded distractedly, and so George set off on his own search.

It did not take long to find the large clump of Hufflepuff sixth years. George stopped and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Diggory."

"Hey, Weasley," Cedric echoed genially. In an odd show of benevolence, he bid his friends goodbye and walked with George to the barrier. "Let me guess – you're George?"

"The one and holey, yes," George concurred solemnly.

"I don't think I ever congratulated you about the Tournament, did I? Nicely done."

"Thanks. Harry was better, though," said George without hesitation. He suspected he would never tell anyone that the only one of the four to complete the Tournament had been_ him_. He doubted anyone would believe him, anyway.

"So...you doing anything this summer?" George asked as they waited their turn for the barrier.

"Yeah, actually," said Cedric. "Dad's taking me backpacking across the country. For my eighteenth, and all."

"You like that sort of thing?"

"Yeah." Cedric grinned. "Been camping every summer as far back as I can remember. The Muggle way, if we can. Anyway," they had passed through the barrier into King's Cross Station, and George sighted his mum waving at him, accompanied by Percy, "I'll see you in the fall, I suppose."

"Yeah. And have fun backpacking, Diggory."

George watched Cedric greet his parents and wondered how two minutes had taught him more about Cedric Diggory than six years of classes together. He shook his head wonderingly and walked back to his mother's waiting arms.

After the customary hugs, Mrs Weasley said, "Now, then, we're missing someone, aren't we?"

George looked around. Ron and Ginny were saying their goodbyes to Harry, and promising to steal him away from his Muggles, but Fred was nowhere in sight. Shortly his mum was distracted again as she offered her hugs to Harry.

"Well," said a voice in his ear, "I suppose this is goodbye for now." Hermione had arrived, a little out of breath, and subtly tugging at the hem of her shirt. George raised an eyebrow at her and then glanced to where Fred was now suffering the hug treatment.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Hermione huffed. "We just said goodbye."

George wisely let the matter go. "Still working on him, are we?"

"Making progress." Hermione grinned and her cheeks went pink. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah. I'll owl you."

Hermione stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, which made his ear turn red. Then she was off to say goodbye to Ron and Harry before taking her leave with her parents.

There was still a long way ahead of them, George thought as the merrily chattering Weasley family started out of the station. His misadventures as Hogwarts champion had only been a distraction from the true work still ahead of him: Voldemort was on the rise, the majority of his Horcruxes were awaiting destruction in Grimmauld Place, and he had yet to see how the wizarding world would handle the Dark Lord's return. And, George smirked, by the looks of their new investment, he and Fred had a busy summer ahead of them already.

He didn't regret it one bit.

The Weasleys stepped from King's Cross into the hazy summer air, and at that opportune moment Fred decided to tackle him from behind. He hooked his left arm around George's neck and cheerfully ruffled his hair.

"Just imagine the possibilities, Forge! The two of us, no more pesky underage magic restrictions, two whole months of complete and utter freedom..."

"Yes, Gred," George said, ducking and salvaging his tousled hair. "Freedom. You, me, and the world to conquer. Sound like a plan?"

"You just read my mind, Georgie."

"A particular talent I have... I'm considering taking up Divination next year, too, care to join me?"

"Oi! Not if I lop off another one of your ears you don't!"

"Aw, Freddie, you know I'm still working out how to regrow mine..."

And so it began, again: and, laughing and bantering with Fred, George didn't care in the least that Voldemort was seething out there somewhere; he even didn't care that he was less one ear. For the first time in long months, all was well.

To be continued...

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Don't be fooled! This is not the end. :P

Hello again, everyone, and my apologies for my hiatus... This last month I have been fervently working my summer project, an original piece of fantasy fiction. I have learned that I get a better portion of writing done when I shut myself away from email/Facebook/the Internet in general. :P On the plus side, I finished off at 127k and I believe I may have the start of a series on my hands. (Oops?) In all honestly, though, I'm pretty excited about it.

Now, for FWE-news: we've finished GoF! (Yay!) Next update should see the beginning of OotP. After some debate, I have decided to keep the next "book" going under the same story heading, so you won't have to go looking for it. Expect some changes, especially with the Fudge-resignation and a certain Dark Lord on the loose. Well...we'll just have to see how George handles that, won't we?

And now, I'd just like to take this opportunity to say thanks to everyone reading this. Thanks for all your inspiring, helpful, and sometimes downright hilarious comments, and for sticking with my erratic updates! You guys are awesome!


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